


The Taming of the Shrewd

by jellybeanforest



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Ultimate Universe, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bickering, But Tony keeps thinking he will, Cap-Ironman Bingo, Comedy, Consent Issues, Domestic Power Plays, Epiphany, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forgiveness, Happy Epilogue, Hopeful Ending, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Physical Abuse, Kidfic, Knotting, Loneliness, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Corporal Punishment, Omega Tony Stark, Omegaverse, Rebellion, Sexism, Slowburn Relationship, Social Isolation, Steve doesn't beat Tony, Unwanted Pregnancy, between Howard and Tony, emotionally constipated, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-02 13:04:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: Waking up after 46 years on ice, alpha Steve Rogers has lost everything. His family is dead, and his fiancé had long married his best friend after his presumed death. The only thing he has left to live for is his dedication to his country, but is that enough to sustain a man? Nick Fury seems to think it unlikely, so he conspires with an old friend to arrange a bond between Captain America and the man’s omega son, Antonio “Tony” Stark.They tell Steve that Tony is a wonderful young man, NYC’s most eligible omega, even. He’s brilliant with a promising future and handsome, made all the more attractive by his dowry: Stark Industries, a multi-billion dollar conglomerate. Steve wonders how such an omega is still single, but he chalks it up to Howard being a particularly vigilant father.And then he meets Tony for the very first time on the day of their bonding ceremony when the man shows up completely plastered.With a date.Steve should back out, but one look at Tony and he knows doing so will be playing into his hand. Besides, since when has Captain America ever turned down a challenge?For the Cap-IronMan Bingo 2019 Round 2 – Emotionally Constipated.





	1. For Whom the Wedding Bells Toll

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this fic will update very quickly because it's 85% complete. It also contains two things I never thought I’d end up writing (MPreg and Kidfic), but it’s the only way the story works. I moved the Ults timeline up eleven years (from 2002 to early 1991 during the final days of Operation Desert Storm, later known as the Gulf War) so that Howard Stark is still alive when Steve is unfrozen, mostly so he can meddle with his 20-year-old son’s love life. The first scene between Fury and Steve in the graveyard is lifted directly from Ultimates 1 as well as a couple lines of dialogue peppered within. For those of you unaware, Ults!Steve is very old-fashioned and kind of a dick. Although he won’t beat his romantic partners and is explicitly against domestic abuse in canon, he is macho, socially-isolated, and has very old-fashioned ideas for how omegas should be treated and handled, which grates on Tony. Ults!Tony is a bit eccentric, a huge slut, and outwardly self-assured, but he suffers from a lot of self-doubt and insecurity in his own abilities, particularly when stacked up against super-humans like Steve. Also, because this takes place before the original Ults timeline, Tony hasn’t been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer (this doesn’t happen until around 2000) and he doesn’t become Iron Man until a little over two years after his diagnosis. So he’s healthy and not Iron Man at the time of this story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha Steve Rogers has nothing to live for. General Nick Fury and Howard Stark aim to change that by arranging a bonding between Steve and the latter’s omega son, Antonio “Tony” Stark.

**February 1991**

“Father: Joseph Harvey Rogers, died February 18, 1954. Cause of death: acute myocardial infarction due to coronary thrombosis and atheroma,” General Nick Fury reads off the death certificate enclosed in Captain America’s file while the man in question holds a silent vigil in front of the Rogers’ family plot.

He flips a page. “Mother: Sarah Alicia Rogers, died March 12, 1967. Cause of death: dilated cardiomyopathy due to chronic obstructive lung disease.”

Then another. “Brother: Douglas Lincoln Rogers; died February 9, 1972. Cause of death: cerebral haematoma due to hepatic insufficiency,” Fury drones on. He looks up from the file. This is depressing, and it isn’t even his family buried in these hallowed grounds. “You sure you want me to keep going, Captain?”

“They’re my family, sir. I need to know what happened to them,” Steve replies. He finally turns away from the headstones, heading back towards the company car down the lane, Fury following after him. “Did Douglas ever have any kids?” he inquires.

“Uh, according to this, Douglas Lincoln Rogers was survived by two children from his first marriage.” Fury leafs through more papers. “A son who was shot dead by narcotics officers and a daughter who’s married and currently living in Idaho and working for Pacific Bell.” He looks up to observe Steve’s back, taking note of the defeated slump of his shoulders. “Would you like us to arrange a reunion? Transport could have you in Idaho by eighteen-hundred tonight.”

Steve squeezes his eyes to stop the flow of tears, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger to disguise his actions as something safer, less emasculating. Like anger. “What’s the point? She doesn’t even know me. Nobody knows me anymore. Even the little kids I remember are all old men now,” he points out bitterly. “You should have left me in the ice where I belonged, General Fury. Everything I ever loved is gone.”

Fury steps beside him, directing his gaze upwards. “Not everything, Captain.”

Steve spies the American flag, waving gently above the cemetery, the symbol of a nation he had lost everything to protect and serve – had bled and died for at least once – a nation who had need of him once again.

Steve Rogers may no longer have a place to call home, but at least Captain America can still be of use.

* * *

In 1945, Steve had had a bunk to place his boots, three squares a day, and a salary of $200 a month as an officer in the greatest army in the world, working alongside his best friend and wartime photographer, Bucky Barnes. He had been looking forward to the end of the war when he could hang up the cowl of Captain America and return to civilian life as Steve Rogers, or barring that, his bonding ceremony in six months time to his best gal, Gail Richards, during his next leave. Captain America was never meant to be his endgame. That persona, the one he had donned for the Survival War, had an expiration date. The end had always been a vital part of the plan.

Now Captain America is all Steve has left.

Gail is bonded to Bucky – has been for forty-five years now, and can barely look at Steve – unwilling to let him see her just yet, not when she’s seventy, and he doesn’t look a day over twenty-seven. Seeing Bucky had been a shock – he still remembers the energetic young man he had been only the day before (plus or minus forty-six years), but Gail… that will take time.

He gets paid a mind-boggling amount working for S.H.I.E.L.D., but commensurate with his pay, everything is astronomically more expensive. He nearly pummeled his prospective landlord the first time he heard rent on a studio in the seedy side of Brooklyn would cost five hundred dollars a month, thinking the price extortion the first he heard of it. He can’t imagine paying even more to live elsewhere, and besides, Brooklyn has always been home, even now that his family is dead and gone. Steve is loath to give it up. Entertainment is more expensive, too. $4.25 to watch a movie when he remembers paying thirty-five cents not too long ago, and don’t even get him started on cable television. The radio was good enough in 1945, and it is good enough now in 1991. His beloved Dodgers are gone as well; moved to Los Angeles in 1957, not that he would be able to afford a ticket to a live game anymore if they had stayed local.

But it’s fine. Steve is fine. He has his routine: sleep, exercise, work, radio or books from the local library, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Day in. Day out. If he keeps at it – this strictly regimented routine – maybe he won’t have to dwell on the people and whole institutions he’s lost in the forty-six years he’s been on ice.

Sleep. Exercise. Work. Radio. Sleep.

It’s a barren existence, not enough to sustain anyone, really. Steve Rogers may be alive, but he might as well be a ghost.

* * *

The intel had been bad, and Captain America had been reckless.

There had been more Iraqi forces, tanks, and heavy artillery than had been expected. They could not confirm the presence of their target. Agent Hill had tried to call off the mission, but Captain America leapt into the fray anyway. By the time it was over, he had almost died and the target had got away (barely and only due to a last minute intervention by Hill to save Captain America). Steve was pissed.

About the failure of his mission, not the prospect of his own death.

Presently, Steve is holed up in the Triskelion gym, systematically destroying punching bags and going over every mistake, every lost opportunity. He can hear footsteps behind him and turns his head just enough to see General Fury in the corner of his eye. He lands another punch, then another, not even pausing when the man stops just to his right, a thin mission file in his hands.

“Got another mission for me?” Steve asks, as his strikes slow.

“This is more of a personal matter,” Fury says. Despite his words to the contrary, the general passes him the file.

Steve flips it open, revealing it to be a single sheet of paper with the profile of one Antonio ‘Tony’ Stark. There’s a short bio and a picture paper-clipped to the top of a young man in his early twenties in some workshop sporting a smear of grease on his cheek and a large smile. He skims through the report, finding nothing to hint at a possible assignment. He lifts the single sheet of paper to peer at the back, finding no further instructions there as well, but based on what information is there, his guess is Captain America is about to enter the exciting world of personal security, probably as a favor from Uncle Sam to one of his many rich benefactors. In other words: a demotion.

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

“General Fury, I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he finally admits, hoping he is mistaken.

“Today is your lucky day. Antonio ‘Tony’ Stark is one of New York City’s most eligible omegas, son of Howard Stark, CEO of DoD contractor Stark Industries, who also happens to be a personal friend of mine. The elder Stark is in the market for an alpha to bond with his son,” Fury explains. “So… you interested?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say, except: “With all due respect, sir, I don’t know if an omega is what I need right now.”

“Hm. Tell me: What are you willing to die for, Captain Rogers? Why do you fight?”

That’s easy. “For my country. To keep America safe.”

He nods. “Good; that’s good… Now, what are you willing to live for?”

“Come again?”

“You’ll die for your country, and that’s very noble and all – would expect nothing less – but everyone needs something to live for; otherwise they might not come back to fight another day,” Fury taps the photo, bringing Steve’s attention back to the omega’s startlingly blue eyes. “I think young Stark here could be that for you. He’s quite the catch. Attractive, as you can see, but less obviously, he’s also a genius. Graduated MIT top of his class at the age of fifteen. Rising star in the field of nanotechnology. Head of Research and Development at Stark Industries currently under the direction of his old man. And that pedigree also comes with an impressive dowry, if I do say so myself. You’ll never want for… well, anything ever again, even if you live several more lifetimes. If Stark had been an alpha, he’d have been a shoe-in as the next CEO, but as it stands… Howard is looking for an appropriate match for the boy, someone whose stature can match his son’s, and he has his eye set on none other than Captain America.”

Steve considers it: an omega would mean family, belonging… love. And Antonio is very pleasing to the eye. He can’t believe an omega of his caliber is still single, much less open to someone like Steve. He’s still not sure about this whole bonding business, especially so soon after Gail, but he is _not_ uninterested.

He snaps the file shut, having already decided. “When can I meet him?”

“They’re an old-fashioned sort of family, which I’m sure you can relate, all things considered. Howard insists everything be handled between the alphas, so you can meet with the parents, and if both parties agree to the match, they will arrange for a bonding ceremony within a month’s time,” Fury explains, his tone easy and suspiciously friendly (which Steve would only realize with the benefit of hindsight much later). “You can meet him either at the ceremony or earlier during the morning of, if you are that keen to do so after already vetting the family.”

It’s not unheard of, for the omega to be so uninvolved, but it’s an old custom, one that was going out of fashion even back in Steve’s day. “Doesn’t Antonio want to meet me first?”

“The boy will do as Howard wishes.”

“…Alright then. I accept his invitation.”

Why the hell not? It’s not like his life could get much worse. And who knows? Maybe this Antonio is just what he needs, someone to care for, to love and cherish. He will serve as Steve’s anchor in this future, something real to cling to in order to reclaim that place of belonging he had lost after forty-six years on ice. If Steve is lucky, maybe this will be the start of a new family of his very own.

Then perhaps he won’t be so alone.

* * *

Fury arranges transport to the Stark family mansion, a large compound the size of an entire city block and comprised of an opulent main house and surrounding grounds encircled by a large stylized fence. It reminds Steve of the old-money mega-mansions that used to dot New York City’s landscape before they fell one-by-one to the wrecking balls of the Great Depression through the early days of the war, making way for skyscrapers, commercial properties, and more affordable housing. Steve could never understand it. All that space for one family when an apartment building in the same location could likely house hundreds? It seemed excessive. Surely, Mr. and Mrs. Stark did not expect him to provide Antonio the same extravagant lifestyle in which he had been raised, not on a working man’s salary.

Steve enters the expansive foyer where he is greeted by the alpha family butler, Edwin Jarvis, a portly man sporting a grey suit that likely cost more than the dress greens Steve is wearing. He removes his outer jacket and service cap to hand to the man, who openly ogles his physique, humming his approval before leading him to the parlor where Antonio’s parents await. He stands at parade rest as he is announced and Mr. Stark dismisses their butler, but he can still feel the proverbial burn of the man’s eyes on his ass as he exits their presence, though that is unsurprising considering Edwin Jarvis is a fairy. It had been in the report on members of the Stark family household. Steve supposes it makes practical sense in a way; alphas are typically not hired as live-in staff, especially when the vulnerable heir is an omega.

Mr. Stark – Howard, he insists – introduces himself and Mrs. Stark. They shake hands, and he is offered an assortment of refreshments. Steve politely refuses the scotch, but accepts Mrs. Stark’s offer of tea before they get down to business, discussing various topics related to both Steve and Antonio – or Tony, as he prefers to be called – specifically family history and expectations of both parties. The dowry in particular is extremely generous, more than Steve had appreciated when Fury had made his initial pitch.

“Tony is a wonderful young man. Very bright,” Howard assures him. “And so hard-working. He is quite the asset to Stark Industries, something I would like him to continue doing for the time being.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark – Howard,” Steve agrees, examining a toast point topped with an unidentifiable spread and wondering where the crust went. “S.H.I.E.L.D. requires me to be away for days at a time, and it would be nice if Tony had a hobby.” Gail had taken up needlepoint but to each his own.

“It is more than a hobby,” Mrs. Stark comments primly.

“Maria…” Howard warns her, and she is immediately silent. She is very well-trained, which bode well for his future omega’s temperament.

“Of course,” Steve assures her. “I don’t mean to undervalue Tony’s work – General Fury told me he is the Head of R&D at Stark Industries – though I do hope it won’t interfere too much with our home life, especially when we look towards expanding our family.”

“Ah yes, children,” Howard swirls his tulip glass, the dark liquid sliding within, his expression unreadable. He pauses as he formulates how to broach the next rather delicate subject. “I know this is an… unusual request, but we are a very prominent family, and Tony is our only child. I would prefer if he were to keep the Stark name after you bond, and in the future – now, I’m not saying the children can’t have the Rogers name, it’s a fine name, very strong in its own right – but perhaps you could hyphenate their last name. It’s a common thing these days, particularly if the omega’s situation is like our own, with a well-known family business we would like to pass on. The name could also open doors for them that would usually unavailable otherwise. It’s just something to think about.”

Double-barrelled names were rare in Steve’s day, with most families adopting the alpha’s surname, but as a practical matter, he can see Howard’s point. The Starks only have the one child, and they wanted to make sure their famous name didn’t die with his bonding, especially since it is emblazoned on the side of all their buildings, recognizable the world over as the premier name in weapons technology. It’s a small concession, one Steve could live with if Tony turned out to be half the omega he appeared to be by all accounts.

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “It is something I can discuss with Tony at a later date, but if you are certain he would want to keep his original name… that would be acceptable.”

Howard breaks into a smile. “Excellent, then I think we are in agreement.”

Steve leans back into the overstuffed leather sofa, his finger tapping out a rhythm on his knee. “And when will I have the opportunity to meet Tony?”

Howard takes another sip of his scotch. “The day of the bonding ceremony, of course. Nick explained our family’s traditions?”

“He did,” Steve concedes, “But I have to admit, considering all the customs that are no longer practiced, I’m surprised that one survived. My last engagement, as you know, was a love match, and it is my understanding that that is what is practiced almost-exclusively today.”

“I appreciate your candor, but we Starks stand strong with the old ways. Our business may be the future, but our traditions are strongly rooted in our history. Now, some may call it old-fashioned, but I am certain _you_ can understand our desire to maintain and celebrate past traditions.”

“Of course, sir. It would be an honor to join your family, if you would have me.”

“The honor is all our’s, Captain,” Howard replies. They shake hands once again, having concluded their business with a successful negotiation. The bonding will be even sooner than Steve anticipated, a small affair in two weeks time, made possible by the fact that to the Starks, money is no object. Steve doesn’t mind the expedient deadline; it’s not like he has any family he has to corral on such short notice. The only people he would want to invite – Bucky, Gail, and maybe General Fury – are local anyway.

Steve collects his belongings from Jarvis and returns to the S.H.I.E.L.D. company car. The drive home gives him time to think. He wonders where Tony had been the entire time he was downstairs with his parents. Had he been upstairs, listening to their conversation through the air vents? Did he even know his future alpha was there, asking after him, planning their upcoming nuptials? Was Tony even aware that he is Captain America? And for that matter, had Tony himself been a fan of his alter ego in his younger years? Steve sincerely hopes not. The last thing he needs is a moon-eyed omega with a lot of pre-conceived notions and expectations of _the_ Captain America, who would be ultimately disappointed to find themselves bonded to Steve Rogers.

Come to think of it: What was Tony like specifically?

In hindsight, Howard had sung his son’s praises, mentioned his achievements, his wit and intelligence, but he had said precious little about how Tony is as a person. He supposes Tony might be like his mother, subdued and obedient, allowing the alphas to conduct the important business while serving tea and biscuits with a smile and a kind word peppered in here and there. Steve could live with that, though he prefers a little more personality. Gail had been a lady, but she was also a firecracker, truly a one-of-a-kind omega. Tony isn’t Gail, but still, he wonders.

Whatever the case may be, he supposes he will find out in two weeks time.

In the interim, Steve’s mood improves. He’s more focused at work, less maudlin at home, and even manages to reconnect with old friends.

In fact, he celebrates his engagement over dinner with Bucky and Gail, asking his childhood friend to be his best man during the bonding ceremony, an offer Bucky gladly accepts. For her part, Gail is relieved Steve has found someone in this decade, someone he can grow old with as she had with Bucky.

Of course as Steve sits across from them as the metaphorical third wheel, he can acknowledge (at least privately to himself) that the pain is still there, the doubt and that perpetual niggling what-if, but Steve can see they’re happy together. Would he and Gail have been…? No. Steve can’t think like that, not when he has Tony now.

“And how is he? Your future omega?” Gail inquires as Bucky throws an arm around his girl. “I’ve seen what they say about him in those awful magazines in grocery store checkout lines, but you know those rags will print anything to sell a few papers.”

That piques Steve’s interest. “What do they say?”

“Just a bunch of gossip, mostly unsubstantiated,” Bucky replies, rubbing Gail’s far shoulder. “Kid’s been in the public eye his entire life. He’s bound to make a few mistakes, but what’s important is whether you like him. You do like him, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t want to admit he hasn’t actually met his intended, _especially_ to Gail. After all, they had been together not too long ago, in love and six months shy of their own bonding ceremony when Steve took out that A-bomb at the cost of his life and their future. What did it say about Steve that he is willing to get hitched with the first omega who’s family took a shine to Captain America? Would it lessen what they had had, or even worse, would it imply that he isn't over Gail, and this is a desperate rebound doomed to failure?

“Yes, we are very happy.”

* * *

It’s the morning of their bonding ceremony, and Steve feels light, freer and more at home than he has felt in a long time, not since before the ice.

The Starks had taken over much of the preparation and all the expense, booking the church Steve had requested for the ceremony as well as the florists, musicians, caterers, and service staff for the reception afterwards. They even hired a discrete security firm to ensure privacy, choosing not to announce the bond until a week after the ceremony to avoid press coverage. The entire interior is decked in large arrangements of tasteful white and blush-colored flowers fastened to the pews on either side of the aisle with more near the altar where they will exchange vows. It’s more extravagant than Steve would have wanted or paid for, but it likely reflected Tony’s tastes and preferences. Briefly, he considers whether he will be able to satisfy such a high-society omega, but he supposes Tony can adjust as Steve has had to.

Presently, Bucky and Steve are getting ready in the alpha suite.

Bucky straightens the jacket of Steve’s full dress uniform, running his palm over the various military honors he had earned over the course of his career. “It’s forty-five years later than I had expected, but I’m happy this day has finally come,” he grasps him around the upper arms, giving his biceps a squeeze and a pat. “And I’m so thankful that you still wanted me as your best man. Swear not to run off with your omega this time around.”

“Well, I promise not to die between now and the exchanging of the vows. I think I can manage that much this time,” Steve replies. “But seriously Bucky, it’s fine. I was dead, and I never would have wanted Gail to be alone. I’m glad she had someone; I’m glad she had you.”

“She’s happy for you, too, you know. She worried about whether you’d settle in, about how you would adjust to being flung forty-six years into the future without the benefit of living through it like the rest of us mere mortals.”

“I’m adapting. I don’t know if it’s the survival enhancements Dr. Erskine built into me or I’m just getting used to how weird the water tastes, but I’m really starting to feel at home here.” It helped that he now had other things to look forward to, things he never thought he could have as a man out of time.

Steve hears a commotion outside the room, coming from the church entrance. Angling his head towards the sound, he asks, “You hear that?”

“Steve, my hearing hasn’t been good since ‘79, but you don’t have to rub it in.”

“Stay here. I’ll see what’s going on.”

Bucky crosses his arms and sits down on one of the provided chairs. “Alright, but remember, you promised not to die. I simply can’t satisfy two omegas at my age, and Gail will have my balls if I try.”

“Funny.”

Steve is out the door and headed towards the source. Turning a corner, the scene that greets him fills him with shock quickly draining away to grave disappointment as any hopes he may have nurtured during the prior few weeks crumble to dust.

Antonio ‘Tony’ Stark, Steve’s intended, had staggered in wearing dark sunglasses and last night’s stained and rumpled clothing, with his T-shirt on inside-out underneath a blazer. His hair is wild, with the distinct look of having undergone some rather rigorous activities, likely of the amorous variety. He is also visibly intoxicated and has his arm snaked around the trim waist of a muscle-bound beefcake wearing a fishnet croptop who looks like his name is probably Atlas. Tony’s hand is even tucked into the far front pocket of the man’s tight jeans, glancing against… is that a roll of quarters?

Oh God. What has Steve gotten himself into, and is it too late to–

“Tony, what on Earth!” Mrs. Stark exclaims as she pulls him by the ear.

“Ow-ow-ow-Ow!” Tony flails, ducked down and leaning into her to relieve the pressure on his ear.

But she doesn’t relent. “James has been trying to find you for the past two hours, and who is this?”

“Mom, this is Brutus; Brutus, my mom,” Tony introduces the other delinquent. “He’s a dear old friend I met just last night, and my plus one for the day’s festivities.”

“You are supposed to get bonded today!” she nearly screeches. “I cannot believe I have to specify this, but you do _not_ get a plus one.”

“Hey man, you’re getting bonded today? Congratulations. I’m so happy for you!” Brutus says, proving he is not the brightest bulb in the pack. “I always cry at these things.”

“But I already paid up front,” Tony protests.

“What?” Mrs. Stark hisses, finally releasing his ear. Tony rubs the shell, working out the ache. “Please tell me you didn’t hire a hooker today of all days.”

“Mom, hooker is such a dirty word. Brutus is an escort, a real up-and-cum-er in the growing field of semi-legal sex work,” Tony snerks at his own pun. “He’s an entrepreneur. Like Howard.”

“Aw… thanks, buddy.”

“You are killing me, Antonio Stark; you know that?” Mrs. Stark is near hysterical as she covers her face with both hands. “You are killing your mother.”

Steve clears his throat, announcing his presence and drawing the attention of the three still standing in the vestibule.

“Oh, you must be Captain Rogers! Can I call you Cap?” Tony gushes, his tone and upbeat demeanor incongruous with having just been caught sort-of cheating on his would-be alpha. “I’m sure my parents told you all about me. All good things, I hope?”

_And none of the bad,_ which is precisely the reason behind Steve’s predicament.

Mrs. Stark is mortified, her usually-pale face bright-red and splotchy. She looks to be on the verge of tears.

“…Shouldn’t you have arrived through the side entrance? I believe that is closer to the omega suite,” Steve says, his voice impressively even, given the situation.

Tony’s face falls, but before he can come up with an appropriately-terrible response, his mother is already shooing him towards his designated preparation room. “Captain Rogers is absolutely correct. Come now, dear.”

Which left Steve and Brutus alone.

Together.

_Fuck._

Brutus is the first to speak. “Hey man, where’d you get the costume? Army surplus store? Omegas sure go wild for an alpha in uniform.” He cants his head to the side as he regards Steve, his eyes wide and empty like a particularly-stupid puppy.

“I am not a prostitute. This is a real uniform,” Steve says patiently through grit teeth. He can’t put Brutus through a wall. (A) They’re in a church, and that’s probably a cardinal sin, and (B) it’s not his fault Tony paid him for… Steve’s not sure what he hired him for, whether to piss off his parents or for actual sex.

“Uh huh, sure thing.” Brutus nods, but he clearly doesn’t believe Steve. “I tell them I’m a student studying communications in junior college. Better tips.”

* * *

Steve returns to the alpha suite, where he asks Bucky for a few minutes alone, unwilling to talk about what had happened with Tony, unable to even explain it to himself.

He just sits slumped in a chair, elbows on his knees and large hands covering his face. When he hears the door creak open, he mumbles, “Not now, Bucky. I’m still not ready. Come back in five… make it ten.”

“I’m afraid I can’t come back later, darling.” _That’s not Bucky._ “I only have five minutes before they figure out I’m not in the bathroom taking a hobo shower.”

The smell hits him next, an acrid body odor with underlying notes of putrid alcoholic sweat. Steve looks up, unsurprised to find Tony. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” He leans back, his head tipped towards the ceiling before dropping to look at his maybe-but-not-too-likely-future omega, still sporting those ridiculous sunglasses and leaning heavily on the door frame before he slips inside to use the table as support, carefully closing the door behind him.

He removes a hip flask from his blazer’s outside pocket, unscrews the top, and takes a long draught, before holding it out to offer Steve a tipple.

Steve declines with a wave. “Should you really be drinking more right now?” he asks instead.

Tony shrugs, dropping his arm down carefully, being sure not to spill. “A little hair of the dog never hurt anyone,” he counters. He waits a beat, then: “So… you calling it off? I’m heartbroken, truly, but no one would blame you, darling.”

That’s a lie. Tony is not heartbroken. In fact, if the giddiness in his tone is any indication, he is elated. Or about to pass out.

Either way, Steve can’t let him win.

“You’ll learn your duties as my omega.”

Tony leans forward conspiratorially, one hand still gripped on the table for balance. “Has no one told you, darling? I already know _everything_. There are tapes circulating attesting to that very fact. You must have asked around about me, or has no one shown you the gossip columns yet?”

“You really shouldn’t be back here, Tony. It’s bad luck for us to see each other before the bonding ceremony on the day of.”

Tony snorts. “Or ever, according to dear old Dad,” he groans, dropping dramatically into a chair. “You ever wonder why he never wanted us to meet beforehand, hm? It’s because you’re getting a raw deal. So, I’m here to tell you: I’m damaged goods, darling. I’m a raging alcoholic, a total slut, and did Howard tell you about the little scandal he had to cover up during my MIT days?” Tony drums on the table. “I bet he didn’t, the old codger. He’s so ready to pawn me off on America’s golden boy, he didn’t even grant you the benefit of full disclosure to make your own informed choice. But you know what they say: Caveat Emptor… I get it, you know. My dowry is quite generous and very _very_ tempting for someone of your… _humble_ means, but is it really worth all this?” He stands once again, signifying himself with a flourish of his hands. “I think not.” Having made his case, he crosses his arms, awaiting Steve’s verdict.

Unfortunately for Tony, Steve isn’t about to play into his hands. “If you want out of the bonding contract, you can just walk. No point in this whole dog-and-pony show to put the blame for it falling through square on me.”

“Oh, I would love to bond with you, make no mistake about that.” That’s clearly a lie. “But as a gentleman–” _Hah!_ “–I’m just letting you know what you’re getting into by bonding to _me_, since no one had the decency of informing you beforehand. An alpha like you? I’m sure you have your pick of willing, virginal omegas just ready and eager to spread their legs for a national hero such as yourself.”

The man had a point. Maybe…

But just then, Mrs. Stark peaks her head inside, finding Tony already accosting his groom and probably making a poor second impression to boot. “Tony, there you are!” She comes up to him, standing between the two to face Tony. “You haven’t changed, and I haven’t had a chance to do your hair or makeup,” she admonishes him while fretting over his hair, trying to tame the more unruly locks in the back with a slicked thumb. “What are you even doing here? You know it’s bad luck to see your intended before the ceremony. Again.”

“I was just telling him that, ma’am,” Steve interjects, noting that she looks markedly better than she had fifteen minutes before, when Tony had first arrived. With a son like that, compartmentalization and emotional repression must have saved her sanity more than once.

She spins to face him. “You can call me Maria, and you have to forgive my son for showing up as he did. He really is a good boy, Captain Rogers. He just… acts out sometimes.” She reaches for his sunglasses – _they are indoors for Chrissake_ – but Tony draws back.

“Mom, don’t!”

She removes them anyway then pauses, her expression unreadable. Tony’s left eye is swollen and dark, the bruise still fresh, probably from that very morning, Steve reckons.

Mrs. Stark snaps the temples of his sunglasses shut, puts them in her purse, then doesn’t quite look her son in the eye as she assures him, “We can cover that right up with a little concealer and powder.”

“How did you get that shiner?” Steve asks. He doesn’t think it’s his imagination when he sees Mrs. Stark stiffen at the obvious question, fearful of Tony’s answer.

“…I got into a little fight this morning on the way over. No big deal,” he answers, staring straight at his mother before turning to look Steve dead in the eye. “You should see the other guy. Big bad alpha. Burly, you know.”

“I would very much like to,” Steve replies, his tone dangerous. It couldn’t have been Brutus; his knuckles were clear and undamaged, his hands soft from all the baby oil he likely smeared on himself and others. “This burly fella have a name?” No alpha beats an omega like that, not even one as mouthy and disrespectful as Tony Stark.

“It wasn’t…” Tony sighs, crossing his arms to massage his temple and forehead with steepled fingers. “It was a sex thing, alright? I paid good money for this love tap.”

_Oh,_ Steve thinks numbly. So, Mrs. Stark’s – Maria’s – reaction was one of further mortification rather than fear. It made sense. Tony is clearly a sexual libertine, and it isn’t a stretch that he would be into pain and humiliation. What mother would want to admit that her omega child hired multiple sex workers to perform deviant acts on the eve of their bonding? On the other hand, who in their right mind would willingly bond themselves to such a loose omega? Steve could back out, hypothetically speaking. There is still time, but one look at Tony, and Steve knows he can’t. He can’t let this omega, this spoiled man-child used to always having his own way, win. Not here; not now. This entire performance is a charade, Steve is sure, designed to scare him off, and Steve would be damned if Captain America turned tail at the first sign of trouble. No. Like Steve had told him before, if Tony wants out of this, he is going to have to be the one to walk first.

Plus, Steve could use a project, something to devote his attention to outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. and this omega is clearly a fixer-upper in need of a lot of discipline and care, but with some time and a little elbow grease, maybe it will be worth it… Tony is very attractive after all.

Tony’s mother cups his chin, turning his face left then right to check for further damage. “Tony, you should stop telling your future alpha such tall tales,” she admonishes him.

“But it’s not a lie, Mom,” Tony protests. “The alpha who gave me this black eye will do absolutely anything for money, even bruise ungrateful omega deviants who are _just asking for it_.”

His mother breathes in deep, releasing her hold on him. “Let’s get you back to the omega suite, and we can discuss it while I cover that up, and Jarvis steams your tux. Again,” she says, but when Tony tips his flask up for another drink, she confiscates it. “And give me that. No more until after, alright sweetie?” She screws it shut and delicately places it in her purse alongside his sunglasses, then holds him by the wrist to lead him out.

Tony takes one look back at Steve, then without breaking eye contact, takes out yet another flask from his interior blazer pocket, uncorking it with his free hand. He turns to face his mother’s back, taking a pull from the fresh flask while allowing himself to be led away.

Steve looks on disapprovingly, but he doesn’t call Tony out for his blatantly disrespectful behavior. Clearly, discipline will be a challenge, and if Tony is to be his omega, he will require a firm hand.

Steve has his work cut out for him, if Tony doesn’t call off the whole thing in the next hour.

* * *

Tony doesn’t.

Steve can hardly believe it, but Tony shows up just as the music queues his entrance, arm-in-arm with his father, who’s white-gloved grip on the stumbling omega is unyielding as he leads him to the (sacrificial) altar.

And so, Steve and Tony exchange the traditional Catholic bonding vows, but not exactly in a traditional way.

Steve goes first, his declaration calm and clear. He pledges his life to Tony, for richer or poorer (or slightly less richer, he supposes), in sickness and in health (or whatever passes as health for such a man), until death (probably Tony’s) do they part. He eyes Tony standing across from him, silently daring him to back out as he so clearly desires, but much to his annoyance, the omega repeats his vows. Sure, Tony sways on his feet, far more gone than he had been an hour before, and his best man, Colonel James Rhodes, has to feed him the words one at a time while the escort he had arrived with is bawling loudly in the front row reserved for family, but he gets through it; damn him.

And so it happens that by the time the priest declares, “What God joins together, let no one put asunder,” it’s already too late.

They’re bonded.

_Fuck._

Bucky passes him the rings signifying their union.

Steve goes first. He looks pointedly at Tony who limply slaps his hand against Steve’s, too drunk to be more coordinated. Steve reaches out to grab his wondering limb, steadying it for the exchange of rings.

“Antonio Stark, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He firmly pushes the ring onto Tony’s finger, being careful not to hurt him with his enhanced strength despite his thorough annoyance.

Tony tries to return the gesture, but he can’t quite find the right finger, so Steve discretely takes the ring from him and threads his finger through it, his mouth a thin hard line of displeasure.

“Right back at you, Cap,” Tony slurs, unable or unwilling to repeat the binding phrase.

The priest looks nervously to Steve, who mutters, “It’s fine. Just end it.” _End this farce of a bonding, for Chrissake._

And so he concludes the ceremony with the Universal Prayer.

Steve attempts to help Tony down the single step then down the aisle towards the exit accompanied by the melodious beats of their recessional song, but his newly-bonded omega leans heavily against him, constantly tripping over his own feet. When Tony almost falls for the third time before they pass the fifth pew, Steve sighs. He crouches down, tipping the confused omega over his shoulder with his distal hand pulling Tony’s wrist taut while placing his proximal arm between Tony’s thighs, hugging the back of his knee close as he fully extends to lift his new omega in a fireman’s carry, bouncing a bit on the upswing to ensure stability before continuing onward. Tony’s parents look mortified while Bucky and Rhodes openly laugh at the sight.

“This’s kind’a hot,” Tony mumbles, drooling on the back of Steve’s dress uniform.

“Shut up.”

* * *

“I said I was sorry,” Tony grumbles as he leans against the adjacent wall. Steve looks over the jacket of his dress uniform, his nose crinkling at the smell. They’re in the men’s restroom of the church, having not even taken their official bonding ceremony photos yet.

“No, you didn’t. Not even once.”

“Okay fine, but that’s only ‘cause what happened is on you,” he retorts waspishly. “I told ya to put me down. I said I was gonna throw up.”

Steve uses copious amounts of paper towels to try to get off the majority of the mess. “You gave me exactly 2.3 seconds to comply.”

“Which was plenty’a time to drop me.”

He turns on the sink, scrubbing some soap into the shoulder.

“I wasn’t about to _drop_ the omega I just swore to protect and cherish like a particularly-squirmy bag of potatoes.” Though maybe if he had carried him more like a bride and less like the proverbial sack of potatoes, Tony wouldn’t have gotten quite so sick, Steve can privately admit to himself in the safety of his own mind. Not that he will ever say it aloud to the ornery omega beside him.

“An’ why not? S’not the worst thing an alpha has ever done to their omega.”

Steve’s eyes lock onto those of Tony’s reflection. “I don’t know about you, but where I come from, a man’s word is his bond.” He rinses it, squeezing lightly to remove most of the water.

Tony looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “…I can get your uniform professional cleaned or buy ya a new one. You know I’m good for it.”

* * *

Steve spends the entire reception trying to wrangle Tony by intercepting alcoholic beverages he habitually lifts from any one of the rather copious number of cocktail servers circulating amongst their guests, preventing him from dirty dancing with Brutus, and intervening when he overtly hits on anything that moved that _wasn’t_ Steve. He’s pretty sure Tony even made a pass at _Bucky_.

Still, at least Bucky and Gail seem to be having a good time.

Gail had even come up to him, remarking, “It was a lovely ceremony, Steve. Your omega is very handsome… and so lively.”

It’s a lie, but “Thank you, Gail.”

He sounds so glum.

“I’m sure the poor thing just has newlywed jitters,” she assures him. “It happens to the best of us.”

Perhaps it is time to dispense with the lies, to be honest with his one-time fiancé and finally unburden himself to someone who might understand. “He’s a crass socialite, not a shrinking violet. He even brought a date to his own bonding ceremony.”

She pats his forearm in sympathy. “I’m sure that man was just a friend or perhaps an employee? He was unusually emotional during the ceremony, but then he kept talking about being paid overtime…”

_This is a mistake,_ Steve can’t help but think. He looks up to find Tony about to steal an entire bottle of scotch from the open bar.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Gail.”

* * *

By the time the newlyweds pile into the limo headed towards Brooklyn with Tony’s overnight bag loaded in the trunk, Tony is mostly sober, and Steve is exhausted. Keeping his omega in check is turning out to be a full-time job requiring endless patience Steve simply doesn’t have.

“Alright _darling_. Now that that’s over and paperwork signed and filed, we should celebrate with a private afterparty, don’t you think? The traditional hookers and blow okay with you?” Tony offers as their driver merges into traffic.

“You’re not as funny as you seem to think, _sweetheart_.”

“We’re bonded, so I suppose that means you’re entitled to half,” he muses, tapping his chin with his index finger in faux thought, “Or maybe all of it. I don’t know. You think you can snort a grand and satisfy three hookers, two of whom are alphas? It’s on my dime either way, or you know, we can just file the annulment right now and get it over with.”

“We’ve both had a long day, so we’re going straight home. I’ll put on some Bing Crosby, and we can relax, maybe with some warm milk. Get to know each other a little better.” _Anything to salvage this situation._ Now that they’re on their way home, this whole bonding experience appears to be even less of a good idea than it had seemed several hours before when Steve had stood in front of God and everyone to shackle himself to Tony ‘hookers and blow’ Stark out of spite.

“Not even a night-cap, Cap? God, sometimes I forget you’re old enough to be my grandfather.” Tony scoots forward, reaching for the champagne cooling in a bucket across from them.

Steve snatches the bottle from him before he can even pop it. “You’ve had enough.”

“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough,” Tony fires back trying to extract the bottle from his grip.

Steve holds it aloft and away from Tony, who practically climbs into his lap in an attempt to reach the bottle. His patience stretched to the breaking point, Steve narrows his eyes, then firmly clasps the meet of Tony’s shoulder and neck where his bonding gland lay, applying a light pressure in warning as a show of dominance. He doesn’t press hard, not wanting to cause damage, but the action causes Tony to cry out in pain nonetheless. Surprised, Steve immediately disengages then pulls back the collar of Tony’s shirt to check for damage. Dappled across Tony’s shoulder are dark overlapping bruises in the shape of another’s fingers, smaller than his own.

Tony shrugs off Steve’s touch, falling back into his seat and putting his shirt back to rights to hide them.

There’s stunned silence, then: “Is that the escort’s doing as well?”

“You got it in one, darling.” Tony hisses, his head lolling as he massages the marks.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you. Had I known…” Steve turns to stare directly at Tony, his omega for better or worse. “You should know, Tony, that no matter how much you upset me, I would never purposely cause you pain or injury. It’s important to me that you know that,” he says, telegraphing the sincerity in his words through soft eye contact.

Tony looks skeptical. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Steve caresses his bonding gland soothingly through his shirt, careful of the bruises there, eliciting a shiver from Tony before he slaps Steve’s hand away. Tony freezes, awaiting further punishment, then relaxes when a minute passes without Steve making good on his prior warning. In fact, Steve keeps his hands to himself the rest of the ride home.

They pull up to Steve’s apartment complex. There are cardboard boxes and miscellaneous detritus strewn across the sidewalk, steel bars on all the windows (some of which are broken), and rolling gates pulled down over some store fronts while others are simply boarded up. There’s a sick cat hawking up a hairball barely visible in a dim alley between buildings, and the homeless who had been investigating the contents of overflowing trash cans stop to view the limo with interest.

Tony does a double take. “Why are we stopping?”

But Steve has already exited out the other side to take Tony’s bag from the driver, tipping the man a couple bucks.

When Tony fails to emerge, Steve bends over to peer inside. “Come on up, sweetheart. We’re home,” he explains, relishing the disbelief in his omega’s eyes. Tony had been born with a silver spoon up his ass; it was time for him to see how the other half (which now included Tony himself) lives.

“You can’t be serious.”

“It’s not so bad, but if you’d rather go back to your parents–”

Tony is out the door and already power walking towards the building entrance, an old-fashioned wooden door with cracked and clouded window panels. He pauses, waiting for his alpha to show him which underwhelming hovel is their abode. “You coming?”

Steve hefts Tony’s bag under his arm and catches up to his omega to hold the door open for him before leading them upstairs. The stairwell is dimly lit, casting a yellowed haze under the few working lights, revealing a patchwork of graffiti and dirty cracked plaster. Tony looks askance at what might even be black mold but doesn’t say anything about it.

His silence doesn’t last, much to Steve’s dismay.

“Are we there yet?” Tony complains as they round the third flight of stairs.

“Two more floors.”

“And there’s no elevator?” he sounds scandalized. “Didn’t they just pass the Americans with Disabilities Act? There’s no way this building is up to code.”

“Probably not, but it’s old and cheap.”

“It’s not the only thing that’s old and cheap.”

That’s a dig at Steve, but he lets it slide. Tony is understandably upset, but he will adjust eventually.

When they finally reach his floor, Steve walks up to the door, opening it to reveal a simple studio apartment, sparsely furnished but thankfully clean. Tony looks around. The front door opens to a small kitchen, with cabinets, an undersized refrigerator, sink, and stove/oven combo on one side and a small table for four on the other. Straight through the kitchen is an open archway revealing a dresser, nightstand, and queen size bed. There’s a door just off to the left of the bed, across from the dresser.

Tony points at the door. “Cap… Please tell me that beyond that door lies the rest of the apartment.”

“If by ‘the rest of the apartment,’ you mean the bathroom, then yeah, you’d be right,” Steve replies, walking ahead to place Tony’s bag on the dresser next to the combination radio/record player. “And you should call me Steve. I can clear some space for you in the dresser and the closet tomorrow, or we can go out and pick up a larger dresser if you need more storage than that. They have some good deals on furniture at consignment shops.”

“How about we pick out a bigger apartment?”

“You really have to stop making so many jokes. I might start to take it personal.”

“It’s not a joke. I’m dead serious,” Tony paces the space between the oven and table in two strides. “I can’t live here. It’s a shoebox! And did you see the neighborhood? This is the slums! Correction: this area is an insult to slums.”

“I grew up in this neighborhood.”

“I’m sure it was very nice back in 1940, but times change, darling. Did you notice all the locals hanging around outside?”

“Tony, I’ve lived in this neighborhood my entire life. This is my home. I’m not going to pick up stakes and move just because of some drugged-out, little wiseguys hanging around the front door,” Steve reiterates sternly. “Now, would you like anything? Some water or milk before bed to hydrate and lessen that hangover coming due in the morning?”

“God, you were serious about that?”

He sighs, dropping his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t you take a shower and get ready for bed?”

“And I take it we will be sharing this bed?”

“There’s no need to be coy. We are bonded.”

Tony makes an expression as if he sucked on a lemon. “This isn’t over, _Steve_.”

“Try not to use up all the hot water.”

Tony takes a forty minute shower.

Steve had knocked on the door after the first ten minutes and then every five after that, but Tony had only shouted variations of “Occupied!” and “Just a minute!” until Steve gave up at the thirty minute mark. He emerges wearing Steve’s towel folded around his waist and scrubbing his hair with his own fluffier white towel. Steve is just about to chew him out about wasting water, but he stops, staring at the exposed skin of Tony’s chest and flat stomach, glistening with residual water droplets, flushed pink from the warmth of his shower. Tony drops his head towel to drape over his shoulders, his hair mussed and unfairly attractive in a roguish way.

“You got something you want to say?” Tony challenges him.

Steve grabs his spare towel and a clean pair of army shorts. “I’ll be out in five.”

The water is predictably ice cold, but perhaps it’s for the best. Steve just stands under the spray long enough to wet himself, turning off the water to lather, then another minute of rinsing, finishing off in under three minutes. He takes another couple minutes to brush his teeth before exiting wearing only the cotton shorts. He supposes that the upside to having such a promiscuous omega is that at least Tony is a sure thing.

But Tony is already wearing full pajamas, lying up on the far side of the bed near the edge, turned towards the single window and away from his alpha. He has hogged many of the blankets to bury himself under, leaving precious little cover for Steve.

Steve settles in next to Tony, sliding in under the covers piled atop his omega to place a hand over his lower stomach. Tony freezes when Steve runs his fingers under his silk shirt, bunching the material up and just glancing the underside of his chest. Tony pushes Steve’s hand back down and out from under his shirt, smoothing out the soft material to cover up.

“I’m tired,” he mumbles, still faced away from Steve.

“That’s okay,” Steve strokes his shoulder, lightly brushing against Tony’s bonding gland, careful of the bruises that still mottle his skin. “You can lie back and just let me take care of you.”

“I said no, Steve.”

Steve is silent, perplexed by his omega’s sudden modesty. “To hear you tell it, you’d have sex with just about anyone.”

“Well, you aren’t ‘just about anyone,’” Tony has the nerve to use air quotes.

_Now, he is just being ridiculous._

“I’m your alpha.” If anyone, Tony should be having sex with _Steve_. Whatever happened before they met with however many people, Steve will have to get over it, but now that they’re bonded, he is Tony’s only viable option for sexual release.

“Yes, I get that. The details may be fuzzy, but I remember that much,” Tony replies, his voice tight. He curls up, twisting the majority of the blankets around himself like a shield. “For what it’s worth though, I’m saying no.”

Steve can feel Tony tense under his touch, bracing himself for whatever comes next.

He sighs. So much for their first night as a bonded couple. “Alright,” he says, withdrawing all contact and rolling onto his back, away from Tony, “Another time then.”

“We’ll see.”

Steve can wait a few days for sex. An omega with Tony’s reputation is unlikely to deny himself much longer.


	2. Spare the Rod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony adjust to life as a bonded pair. It’s not easy for either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it’s canon in the Ultimate Universe that Tony loved his mother. He bought her a place to live with his first million and refuses to ever consider selling it. When he is decluttering after his diagnosis of inoperable brain cancer, Jarvis makes a jab about how Tony gave away all his personal possessions (including his Captain America trading cards and vintage playboys), but he couldn’t bear to part with his late mother’s evening wear.

Steve wakes early when Tony smacks him across the chin, having rolled over in his sleep, his limbs outstretched and flailing like the only child he is. Steve had grown up civilized, the necessity of having to share everything with Dougie keeping him humble and subconsciously aware of space and resource limitations. He had hoped that with the many intimate partners Tony had had in the past, he’d at least know how to share a bed, but even that much is beyond the man. Steve carefully lifts Tony’s arm, bending it at the elbow to rest across his exposed stomach, his shirt having scrunched up in his sleep. He strokes the smooth skin with the back of his hand. His omega really is lovely… when he’s soft with sleep and not making an idiot of himself and Steve.

Tony stirs and turns towards him, his mouth smacking loudly before parting with a light snore.

What would it be like to kiss those pillowy lips? Will he find out today (preferably after both have brushed their teeth)? Gail had been affectionate, generous with her kisses and touches during their courtship, and he misses it. With his family and most of his friends dead and gone, no one touches him anymore – not even other alphas – friendships between alphas seemingly grown almost sterile over the decades. But now that he has an omega, maybe…

He reaches out to caress the soft dip of Tony’s waist, this thumb tracing a circle in the muscle there.

Tony startles awake, shouts, and kicks away, almost taking out Steve’s kneecaps. _Oof!_ Steve reflexively latches on to the struggling omega, trapping him in a cage of limbs, his morning wood pressed hard against Tony’s hip as the omega stills, gulping in large quantities of air to calm himself.

“Well, now that’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Steve deadpans.

“Steve?”

“Good morning, Tony.”

His body is rigid, too angular in Steve’s arms. “What were you doing touching me in my sleep?”

“Can’t an alpha touch his omega without needing a reason?” Steve isn’t even talking about sex, but even if he was, Tony has shared his bed with countless others before. It’s not like this is an entirely foreign experience.

He releases Tony, rolling over to sit up and drop his legs over the side. He runs his fingers through his hair, scratching at the base of his skull then massaging his neck to work out a kink. His head rolls over just enough for him to barely make out Tony in his peripheral vision. “Breakfast?” he offers.

Tony’s eyes screw shut as he massages his forehead and temple with fingertips, trying to stave off a minor headache. “…Maybe coffee.”

Steve puts on a pot and makes pancakes, carefully following the directions on the back of the Bisquick sack like his mother had done back in the day, cooking up a short stack for Tony and a tall one for himself.

He’s placing both plates on the table just as Tony exits the bathroom, dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans. Tony makes a beeline for the coffee, snagging one of the mugs Steve had thoughtfully placed next to the pot then pouring himself a cup, ignoring the other mug completely. He turns around to lean on the counter, one hand palming the edge while the other tips the coffee down his greedy maw.

_Only child,_ Steve has to remind himself. _Probably raised by nannies who catered to his every whim, teaching him no consideration for others._

“Why don’t you pour me a cup and bring it to the table so we can have breakfast together?” Steve suggests patiently.

“No, I’m good. I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

“But I made these special for you.”

Tony rolls his eyes, refilling his own mug before pouring one for Steve and walking the short distance to the table. He sits down, but before Steve can even hold out his hand to Tony to say grace, Tony has already cut a small bite from the top-most pancake and stuffed it in his mouth, exaggerating his chewing to an almost-obnoxious degree. Then, he pushes the plate away. “Okay, I ate. I’m done.”

_Scratch that. Tony was raised in a barn._

“…We didn’t say grace yet” is all Steve can think to say in response.

“Yeah… I’m not too big on the guy in the sky, so to speak,” Tony says in clipped tones. “If that’s a dealbreaker for you, we could always swing by the Stark family lawyer and draw up the divorce papers. I’m willing to offer you a generous settlement for your ‘pain and suffering.’” There he goes with the air quotes again.

“We’re not getting a divorce,” Steve states in his Captain America voice. They had just pledged themselves to each other the day before in front of God and everyone. Failure is not an option. He grabs Tony’s hand then speeds through the short prayer before tucking into his own breakfast.

“I’m still not eating this,” Tony reiterates.

Steve simply drags his plate closer, flipping the stack on top of his own. No one wastes food in the Rogers (Stark-Rogers?) household.

He lays out a plan for the morning: “We can swing by your parent’s house after breakfast to pick up the rest of your things then depending on how much there is, we might have to pick up a larger dresser.”

“We’re going to need to pick out a whole ‘nother apartment. If it’s a money thing that has you worried, I’ve got plenty in my trust,” Tony assures him.

Steve can’t live off the largesse of his omega. It rankles against everything he has been taught about his duties as an alpha. “I already told you we aren’t moving,” he intones.

Tony takes another sip of coffee. “Don’t let your alpha pride stand in the way of a better life.”

Steve firmly grasps the meet of Tony’s neck and shoulder, applying light pressure to his bonding gland. “I said no, Tony.” It’s a warning, one that if heeded will be rewarded with soft touch and praise, but if not, may result in any number of reprimands.

Tony stares straight back at him, defiant and almost daring him to make good on his threat. “You going to hit me now because I won’t bow and scrape to your will?”

Steve releases him. “No, but you will learn,” he replies, his tone stern. He has never been a fan of corporal punishment, especially now that he is so much stronger than the standard alpha (much less an omega), but there are other options, ones that Tony will likely become familiar with considering his obstinate nature.

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

* * *

Instead of returning to the Stark Mansion, Tony calls ahead, requesting Jarvis pack up his things and have a third of it delivered to their new address.

“Why a third?” Steve had asked, having overheard the call.

“Trust me, darling,” Tony had insisted, his tone nearly biting despite the neutrality of his words.

The answer becomes quickly apparent when box after box is loaded into their bedroom and stacked high on their kitchen table, taking up most of the available space.

“Still think we don’t need a new place?” Tony sneers.

“Do you really need a– what even is this?” Steve pokes at what looks like an oversized claw machine with his name emblazoned on the side in sharpie. There’s no way they have the space for something so useless.

“Nope! No! Hands off!” Tony declares, inserting himself between Steve and the machine to push him back. “You are not getting rid of DUM-E. I need him.”

“…Why?”

“He passes butter,” Tony blurts out.

“_I _can pass butter,” Steve says. “We simply don’t have the space–”

“Then let’s move!”

Steve’s hand is on his bonding gland again, squeezing gently. “Don’t you start that again,” he orders.

“You’re being unreasonable!”

“And you’re being hysterical. We are not moving so you can have a… I don’t even know what this is. A robot butler? An advanced house-keeping automaton?”

“Fine!”

Steve releases him then tries to nuzzle his neck in reward, but Tony bats him off.

“I’ll send him to my lab over at Stark Industries,” he says instead, petting the clawed protuberance as if to soothe it. “It’s not like I can build anything outside the purview of Howard and Stark Industries while I’m living here anyway.”

“Why would you want to take your work home?”

Tony frowns, hooking his thumbs into his jean pockets. “You know what? Forget I said anything. It’s not as important as making sure dinner is on the table by 7:30 sharp, anyway. Priorities being what they are.”

Steve hums. It looks like Tony is well on his way to being an excellent omega. It only requires a firm hand applied sparingly here and there when the situation calls for it.

* * *

“What the– Tony where are all my socks and my pair of good shoes?” Steve asks, having just come home from picking up milk at the grocery store while Tony had been tasked with putting away the things he had been allowed to keep. Even his slippers are gone.

Steve had checked the closet and is presently rooting through what was formerly his sock drawer and now seemed to contain solely Tony’s collection of expensive watches, cufflinks, and tiny boxer briefs. Steve holds up a red pair that probably just barely covered his omega’s ass. His cheeks pink at the sight.

“Oh… well, I thought that since you saw fit to declutter my possessions, I would do the same for you while you were out,” Tony answers, his tone dripping with mock innocence. “What was the old saying back in your day? The only way to keep an omega happy is to keep them barefoot and pregnant? Can’t help you with the latter, but I thought you should experience the former.”

Steve stalks over, gripping Tony at the join of his neck and shoulder. “Tony, this isn’t funny.”

Tony doesn’t back down. “I’m not trying to be funny, _darling_,” he fumes, a defiant gleam in his eye.

“Where are they?”

“I threw them out the window. I’m sure our neighbors camping out on the stoop could get a lot of use from them. Clean socks are always in short supply among the homeless.”

Steve’s nostrils flare as he commands Tony. “Go to the bathroom.”

“No.”

“Do as I say.”

“Make me,” Tony says, digging his heels into the cheap carpet.

So, Steve lifts him up and carries him kicking and swearing into the bathroom. Holding onto him tightly over his shoulder with one arm, he uses the other to drop down the toilet seat then deposits Tony roughly upon it. He’s back to firmly squeezing Tony’s bonding gland. “You are going to clean this entire bathroom with this.” He pulls out a spare toothbrush and a standard sponge cut in half from the sink drawer. “That means the bowl, the grout in the shower, even detail work behind the toilet. I want this place to shine. Got it?”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later, sweetheart, but I’m not letting you out until this bathroom is spotless. Cleaning supplies are under the sink. Don’t mix ammonia and bleach.”

Tony sounds insulted. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Steve grabs his own toiletries, pre-empting the temptation for Tony to tamper with them. He slides open the small window above the shower and turns on the fan for ventilation before closing the door. Unable to lock the bathroom door from the outside, he jams a chair under the handle.

Tony tries the knob immediately, and once he finds he cannot open it, starts to bang on the door, demanding to be let out, proclaiming Steve a tyrant among other unkind expletives. Steve figures without superhuman strength or stamina, Tony will tire himself out eventually and be forced to comply.

So he simply sits at the kitchen table with a book he had checked out of the library on the care and discipline of omegas. Published in 1921, it was a classic in his day and likely had better advice than anything more recent, based on what he’s seen of the future.

He skips the six chapters on corporal punishment, of course.

Tony quiets down, and after an hour, Steve removes the chair, sneaking a peek inside the bathroom. “Tony, are you–”

Tony slams the door open, smacking Steve in the face, then tries to duck around him, but Steve grabs him from behind, using the momentum to spin him around. He lifts Tony up bodily and pushes him into the bed, trapping him underneath his mass.

“Let me go!” Tony screams, trying to squirm out of his grip.

“No!” Steve can feel the heat in his eye as it puffs closed. He tastes blood, and his nose might be broken as well – bleeding as profusely as it is, smeared across his face and dripping onto Tony below – but it’s nothing that won’t heal within the hour. “Calm down!”

“Get off me!”

“Not until you calm down!”

Tony struggles with renewed vigor, so Steve locks his body around Tony’s, being careful not to bear his full weight down. Steve tries to ignore it, but he can’t help noticing the position brings his pelvis flush against the curve of Tony’s ass. His dick stiffens with interest. _Not now,_ he tells himself. He’s trying to make a point, and Little Steven is _not helping_.

Tony stills, going limp but breathing hard.

“…You didn’t complete your assignment, did you?” Steve murmurs low in his ear.

Tony doesn’t speak, but he shakes his head.

“If I let you up, will you behave and do as I asked, or do I have to find an _alternative_ punishment?” _Probably peeling a bag of potatoes and shaving them for potato gratin tonight as well as hash browns in the morning._ Something repetitive and dull that Steve can supervise to ensure completion.

Tony’s body stiffens under Steve, but he nods.

“Okay, I’m going to let you up now,” he lifts up fractionally. “I am trusting you, Tony. Don’t disappoint me.” He stands fully, positioning himself between Tony and the kitchen, blocking his exit. “Now, go back into the bathroom and clean it. I won’t ask you again.”

Steve considers it a Christmas miracle (in March?) when Tony complies without the need for further intervention on his part, and though later inspection reveals that the grout is not sparkling and the cleanliness of the sink is not up to military standards, he doesn’t fault his omega. Tony is unused to labor and tired, so he lets it slide. What is important is his compliance.

“You did so well,” Steve praises, burying his healed nose in Tony’s bonding gland in reward. According to the book, positive reinforcement for desired behaviors should be encouraged. “I hate punishing you, but it’s the only way you’ll learn.”

Tony shimmies out from Steve’s arms, crossing the short way into the kitchen to sit at the table, the greatest distance he can put between himself and his alpha in an apartment so compact.

* * *

That night, Tony is on the far edge of the bed, rolled onto his side to once again maximize the space between himself and Steve. When Steve reaches over to caress his omega, Tony shies away.

“Not in the mood,” he states in clipped tones.

Steve withdraws his touch then flips onto his back to stare at the ceiling. It has been a long day, and Tony is likely still sore about his punishment, but Steve is certain he will come around eventually.

Tony must want it, too. How long can he possibly make Steve wait?

* * *

A week later and Steve is beginning to think that Tony intends to keep his legs closed the entire vacation he had blocked out from S.H.I.E.L.D. to get to know his omega. If Tony had been a virgin, that would be one thing – Steve could understand if he was shy then – but by all (updated) accounts, the man had fucked his way through half the eligible alphas this side of the Hudson as well as his fair share of omegas. He is absolutely shameless, but apparently his former promiscuity extends to literally everyone else _other_ than his alpha.

_It makes no sense._

Tony opens a cabinet, standing on his tip-toes to brush fingertips against a mug at the very top.

_It frustrates Steve. _

The stretch lifts his shirt, revealing an alluring strip of skin just above his designer jeans, which also do wonders for his ass.

_It turns him on._

Steve may be superhuman, but at the end of the day, he is still a red-blooded American alpha, a man with needs… Needs that his omega saw fit to ignore completely. Tony apparently has no interest in anything Steve has to offer and cannot be plied with kind words or actions.

“Let me get that for you,” Steve says, reaching over Tony to easily grab the mug. Tony snatches it then retrieves the coffee pot for a generous pour. “A thank you wouldn’t be remiss.” Steve accepts kisses as well.

Tony grunts, drinking his coffee black.

_See? Completely frigid._

* * *

Tony’s bruises fade, and Steve is glad not to have reminders of other hands on his omega, hands that Tony had allowed – had wanted enough to pay for – while he continues to deny Steve the same privilege.

* * *

Mrs. Stark visits not too long after. Her driver, a man named Happy Hogan, holds the door for her then quickly exits, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he retreats. Steve offers to brew a fresh pot of coffee or an espresso, which she accepts. She sits down at their kitchen table and surreptitiously observes their home, her eyes lingering on Tony’s small touches – a photo of her and Tony hung up on the wall, the quilt, the espresso machine taking up half their counter space to the left of the sink – around the apartment.

She chats with Tony, alternating between English and Italian, with Tony responding in the same curious mix.

“How have you been, Tony?” she inquires, cupping his chin. “It’s been so long since we heard from you. _Se ti sta facendo del male, posso farlo scomparire._”

Tony rolls his eyes, rather rudely in Steve’s opinion. “I’m fine, Mom. _Non è migliore o peggiore di nessun altro_. Just peachy.”

But his mother remains indulgent, not calling her son out for his disrespectful behavior. “Oh sweetie, _voglio di meglio per te. _Your father and I miss you. _Il ghiaccio è la sua debolezza. Posso usarlo_.”

It’s no wonder Tony had such a stubborn streak Steve had yet to break. It is the result of years of coddling, of conditioning Tony that his actions had no consequences.

“_Non è cattivo come_ Howard doesn’t miss me,” Tony sighs, bringing the mug to his lips.

“_Pensi che una piccozza funzionerà_?”

Tony chokes on his coffee, sputtering and hacking through the burn.

“What was that?” Steve asks as he prepares a plate of cookies and biscuits.

“Mom made a pun in Italian. Afraid it doesn’t translate well.”

Steve brings Mrs. Stark an espresso, placing the biscuits between her and Tony.

“Ah thank you, Captain Rogers. Tony does favor his espresso,” she smiles brightly. Turning to Tony, she ruffles his hair. “_Piccozza nella sua testa. Non l’avrebbe mai visto arrivare_.”

When Steve returns with his own mug, she switches to English, apologizing for excluding Steve from their conversation. The Italian still pops in here and there, with Mrs. Stark apologizing every time for her slip – “Oh, silly me; it’s a hard habit to break when I’m talking to my son. You must excuse me” – but Steve finds it charming.

After half an hour of small talk, Mrs. Stark gets to what Steve supposes must have been the purpose of the visit. “So, as a bonding gift, Howard and I have arranged the purchase and furnishing of a townhouse on the Upper East Side for you and Tony.”

Steve had been half-expecting something like this since the movers had arrived the week before and made some unkind comments about Tony’s reduced circumstances, shortly before Steve _strongly encouraged_ them to apologize. Still, Steve knows Manhattan housing prices, and the gift is simply too much.

“That’s very generous of you, but it won’t be necessary,” he politely declines.

“Steve…” Tony starts.

Steve is firm. “Brooklyn is our home now, Tony.”

Mrs. Stark pats Tony’s forearm, silencing any further protests, as if to gently remind him that this is his alpha’s decision, and he should accept it. It’s surprisingly effective. Perhaps Steve can learn a thing or two from her.

And then she speaks.

“I understand your attachment to this neighborhood. You and your family are from around here, yes? It’s familiar to you in a time where everything is different, and that can be grounding, comforting,” she begins, rubbing soothing circles in Tony’s arm. “But… well, your job? It takes you away from home for days at a time. Isn’t that right?”

_An ambush._

“Yes.”

Steve isn’t stupid. He can see where this is going.

Mrs. Stark continues, “And Tony will be left alone during your business trips. Wouldn’t another area – one with which he is familiar – be just as comforting and more importantly, safer for him? For times when you can’t be around to protect him?”

Steve imagines Tony alone in their apartment during a home invasion, like the one time he had come home after work shortly after he had been defrosted to find his apartment ransacked and records destroyed. Sure, he had taken care of it after the fact – found those juvies and taught them a little respect – but that didn’t undo the original damage. What would they have done to his omega – to Tony – if he had bonded him earlier and had left him home alone, unprotected? And what could Steve have done after the fact to undo the damage? Brooklyn is his home, and he can handle himself, but being a bonded alpha means it isn’t just about Steve anymore. It can’t be. He has to make decisions that are in the best interests of his omega and any potential children they may have as well.

“…Alright,” he concedes.

“Excellent! Now, I do have to be going,” Mrs. Stark rises. “Tony, be good, okay? _Ti voglio bene. Baci_.” She leans over to kiss her son on the cheek.

“Thanks, Mom. Love you, too.”

“I’ll tell your father you are pleased with the gift?”

Tony pulls a face. “I’d rather you not.”

“Honey… he does love you. In his own way,” she comforts him, placing her hand over his and giving it a squeeze.

Tony slips his hand out from under hers to rub his shoulder. “I’m sure he does.”

She addresses Steve. “Captain Rogers – Steve, may I call you Steve?” When he nods, she continues, “It seems I cannot locate my driver. Perhaps he is guarding the car. Would you be so kind as to accompany me out?”

“Of course, Mrs. Stark.” He wouldn’t let an omega walk out alone anyway. Not in this neighborhood dressed in such finery. His mother raised him better than that.

“Maria,” she reminds him.

“Maria,” he confirms.

* * *

Once outside, Maria asks after her son. “How is Tony adjusting?”

Steve decides discretion is the better part of valor. “About as well as can be expected considering his… personality.”

“Hm. And you? How are you adjusting? Do you find his company pleasing?”

“It’s fine. We’re fine.”

“I see.”

Steve is silent for a beat, then: “If Howard didn’t think I could provide for Tony, why did he arrange our bonding?”

“There’s more to providing than financial security, especially since that is something Tony already has,” Maria replies. She hesitates before divulging, “Howard had considered many options before, generally older and more established, but _I_ thought you could be good for him in other respects. Tony can be… difficult, but they say you are a fair man. Mrs. Barnes in particular spoke favorably of you.”

That surprises Steve. “You talked to Gail?”

“I grew up on tales of Captain America, the alpha who punched Nazis and took out an A-Bomb with his bare hands without hesitation. He is a legend, a hero. But I knew next to nothing about Steve Rogers, the private citizen,” she admits. “Mrs. Barnes would know best how you are in more intimate matters.”

With Tony’s stubborn nature and pernicious habits, his mother’s concern is not unfounded. Of course, Steve never laid a finger on Gail, but then again, she never tried his patience as much as Tony. He will never beat Tony either, but he could see why Maria worries. A lesser alpha would…

_Oh._

“Tony had a lot of bruises when I took him home,” he insinuates. “Some of them were older, faded faster. I thought… he hired a lot of escorts before. They could have been consensual.”

“That’s a plausible conclusion given what he told you.”

“But they’re not, are they?”

Maria seems pensive. “I’ve made mistakes in my life, but I wanted better for him. Somewhere stable; somewhere safe.” She looks him directly in the eye. “I love my son.”

“Not enough to leave.”

“An alpha always thinks it’s that simple,” she scoffs, looking away. “Tell me, Steve. If Tony decides to leave you after Howard and I pass, with what will he be leaving?”

“He won’t.”

“But if he did?”

Steve considers it for a moment. “He can have Stark Industries and the apartment you gave him. I’d move back to Brooklyn, I suppose.”

“Because you would _let_ him have it,” Maria points out. “And that is why I agreed to the match.”

“Because you think he’ll leave.”

“No, because you are fair. Not all alphas are,” Maria spies Happy, giving a short wave to call him over. “Ah, there he is. Thank you for walking me out, Steve. I hope you will come visit soon. I feel it’s been so long since we’ve seen Tony, and it would be nice to have you two over.”

“I’ll consider it, ma’am,” Steve replies. He can’t be rude to Tony’s mother, no matter her crimes.

“Maria.”

“Maria,” Steve amends. “I’ll talk it over with Tony.” _Only if he wants to go._

Steve returns to the apartment where Tony is washing the mugs from their visit. He watches him a moment before approaching him from behind, enveloping him in strong arms around his middle. He presses his face into the crook of Tony’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. Tony is warm and safe and _his_, and Steve is never going to let anything terrible happen to him ever again.

Tony stiffens, his sponge stilling. “What was that for?”

“Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all.”

* * *

They move into what turns out to be a three-bedroom townhouse with an expansive basement on the Upper East Side. Tony claims the basement then tries to negotiate for separate rooms.

“You are not getting your own bedroom,” Steve replies sternly, as he stops Tony from redirecting Steve’s personal effects to one of the smaller bedrooms (Tony having naturally claimed the master).

“Why not? We have the space?”

Steve crosses his arms. “For one: Even if we were sleeping in different rooms, you should not assume you would get the master bedroom – that is selfish and quite forward of you – and two: We are bonded. We will sleep in the same room.”

“But what if I told you you snore, and it’s disrupting my precious beauty sleep?” Tony protests. “What will people think if your omega is not refreshed and unlined, untouched by the ravages of time and stress? How will I perform my primary duty as eye candy for you to show off to other crusty old alphas?”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t snore.”

“How would you know? You’re sleeping!” He throws up his hands rather dramatically.

“Because I was a lab rat once. They used to record me in my sleep.”

“…Creepy.”

“You are not getting your own room, and that’s final.” Steve directs the rest of his possessions into the appropriate rooms, allowing Tony to determine the final destination of his (far more numerous) boxes, most of which are sent to the basement along with that ridiculous claw machine he must have brought over from its short residence in SI.

When they are done, one of the movers hands a clipboard to Tony. “Mr. Rogers, please sign here to indicate we have completed the move to your satisfaction.”

Tony quickly reviews the documents. “_Captain Rogers_ is my alpha. I’m still a Stark. I never changed my name.” He signs ‘Tony Stark’ in large swooping letters, making the ‘S’ of his last name particularly prominent, and hands it back just as Steve comes to stand beside him.

The man looks askance at Steve. “How… progressive of your alpha to allow that.”

“I don’t need the good Captain’s permission to keep my name,” Tony asserts, thoroughly annoyed.

“His father actually requested Tony be allowed to keep the family name. He is an only child and their family is unusually prominent,” Steve clarifies.

Ignoring Tony, the man turns to address his alpha. “Still seems weird, you know. Never understood omegas who won’t change their surnames.”

Steve shrugs. “I found it strange at first, but I guess it’s a brave new world.”

After the movers leave, Tony stalks on over to sit on their new couch. “Oh, it sure was nice of you to _allow_ me to keep my own name because you talked to _Howard_,” he spits out, adding: “Does this mean our children will carry my last name? You know, I always thought it odd that an omega would do like 95% of the work of building and caring for children, and some alpha can roll up and slap their name on it. It’s like all the worst aspects of a group project.”

Steve sits next to him, draping an arm over the back of the sofa. “We can hyphenate. That’s a thing these days.”

Tony scoots up to the edge outside the enclosure of Steve’s outstretched arm. “How gracious of you to share half credit,” he continues sarcastically. “Whether you will do half the work remains to be seen.”

Steve sits forward, his arm leaving the back of the sofa to place a hand on Tony’s knee. “Would you like to find out?”

Tony brushes it off, crinkling his nose in disapproval. “Not anytime soon.”

* * *

Their new bed is a king. Tony uses its size as an excuse to sleep even further away from Steve, once again huddled almost to the edge. Any attempts by Steve to reduce the space between them are met with sharp criticisms of “Really? I give you 83% of the available space, and you still choose to sleep right in the middle?” and “This is why I need my own room.” Steve sticks to his side, the no-man’s land between him and Tony as impenetrable as it had been in any armed combat in which Steve had participated.

* * *

Two weeks after their bonding, Tony and Steve return to their respective jobs at Stark Industries and S.H.I.E.L.D. Implausibly, Steve is having exactly the same amount of sex now as when he was single – that is to say: none – but he supposes it’s nice to have someone at home.

When Tony deigns to come home, that is.

The first time it happens, Steve calls his office, and after being routed through their complicated phone tree, is put on hold for forty minutes until either the call drops or he is unceremoniously hung up upon. He calls back, uses his Captain America voice and is forwarded to Tony’s personal assistant, Pepper Potts. She is professional but tells him in no uncertain terms that Mr. Stark requested no calls and that he is incredibly busy with urgent matters requiring his full attention.

Steve is waiting for him on the couch when he strolls in at eleven that night.

“What’re you still doing up? Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Tony has the gall to inquire.

“Where have you been?” Steve demands, his voice full of quiet rage. If Tony is smart, he will tread carefully, try to soothe his alpha’s anger with heartfelt apologies and promises to not let it happen again.

Tony might be a genius, but he is not one to value self-preservation over rebellion. “Didn’t Pepper explain?” he says coolly. “I was at the office. Work tends to pile up when you’re under house arrest.”

“You will be home no later than seven. We moved to Manhattan to make things easier for you.” Steve gets up and advances on him.

Tony doesn’t back down, challenging his alpha’s ire with his own. “No, we moved because Mom was concerned I’d get shanked the minute I stepped ten feet outside our old apartment without armed escort.”

_Gail would have never been this much trouble,_ Steve thinks and not for the first time. Gail is a God-damn saint, and Tony? Tony is a shrew: ill-tempered and positively feral. “Next time you don’t call ahead to tell me you’re going to be late and why so I can decide whether it’s a good enough reason, I will personally go down to Stark Industries and retrieve you myself,” he warns his omega.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t test me, Tony. I mean it.”

Tony doesn’t return home the very next night, and all calls to his office go ignored. So, Steve heads out in the motorcycle he had purchased upon moving to Manhattan, cutting through traffic to arrive at Stark Industries in record time. He tries the front desk but is denied access, so he puts the night watchman into a chokehold, knocks out his partner, and steals their access badges, hefting the lighter of the two over to clear the biometric scanners.

Research and Development requires separate security access, but he is able to sweet-talk the kindly old janitor into letting him inside. He’s a national icon after all, and he very recently (and famously) bonded with the Stark heir. The man nods, having seen the announcement and their picture in the paper.

“Oh yes, you two make such a lovely couple,” he compliments Steve, as he fumbles with his access card. Steve waits patiently as the janitor slides it through the reader, and when it doesn’t immediately grant him access, he rubs it against his coveralls, turns it over, and tries again, followed by a successful retinal scan. “That boy is so wild; I’m glad to see he found someone who could keep up.”

“Thank you very much,” Steve smiles, shaking his hand. “Now you have a nice night, sir.”

The janitor straightens to his full diminutive height, saluting Captain America. “And you as well. I’m sure Mr. Stark will be thrilled to have his alpha surprise him like this. You’re so very thoughtful.”

Steve smiles as he steps through, but his face drops the minute he’s on the other side. He sweeps the hallways, ending up in a large centralized lab, where Tony stands alone with his back turned towards him, the others having long left for the day. His omega is clearly in his element, working on a large blue holographic interface, scrolling through different screens, expanding and minimizing others. He’s gorgeous like this, almost entrancing, but Steve has a point to make. Quietly, he approaches Tony, and at the very last moment, he slips an arm around Tony’s torso, pulling him in tight.

Tony startles, swearing in surprise and swinging his elbow around to catch his assailant in the face, but Steve blocks him, trapping both of Tony’s flailing limbs under his free arm. Tony struggles at first, but when he recognizes the form holding him close, he stops.

“…Steve?”

“Didn’t I warn you this would happen?” he murmurs in his ear before releasing him. “Now, pack up. It’s time to go home. I brought an extra helmet for you if you want to ride back with me.”

“You need better boundaries.”

“And you need better security.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “What did you do to Rufus and Walter?”

“They’ll be fine,” Steve dismisses his concerns. “They might wake up with a headache–”

“Well great!” He throws up his hands. “That’s a workman’s comp claim right there–”

“Which could have all been avoided if you had called.”

Tony presses an index finger into Steve’s chest, sharply jabbing him for emphasis. “You can’t just waltz into SI like this and take out everyone who tries to stop you. How would you like it if I raided S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“No offense, sweetheart, but you wouldn’t have made it past the front door. Now, if you asked for me at reception, I would have made the time to see you, assuming I was in the building,” Steve says, capturing Tony’s hand in his own and bringing it between them. “So, are you coming?”

Tony tugs at his captured limb, but Steve doesn’t release him. “I told you I have work.”

“I apologize for the phrasing. I can see how you thought it was optional,” he corrects himself, his tone stern. “Tony, you’re coming home. We are going to eat dinner together like a family. This is non-negotiable.”

“…Asshole.”

Steve reaches out to clasp Tony’s bonding gland, squeezing lightly. “Language.”

“I’ve heard you swear.”

“An omega shouldn’t be so vulgar. I’ve allowed it so far, but you will address me with respect.”

“You are a maniac and a hypocrite,” Tony spits out, but he complies, summoning Happy to drive him home while Steve follows closely behind on his motorcycle.

Once through the door, Steve herds Tony into the kitchen, pushing down on his shoulders to force him to sit at the table.

“I made Hoover stew. It’s cold now, but I’ll heat it up.”

“This is hot dogs and macaroni,” Tony uses the serving spoon to prod at the gelatinous contents of the large pyrex in the center, an unappetizing skin forming over the mound as it had cooled.

“And tomatoes and baked beans,” Steve adds, collecting the dish to pour back into the pot with a splash of water. He turns on the stove. “My mom used to make this back in the day.”

“Just so we’re clear: You made me leave work early–”

“It wasn’t ‘early.’”

“–for hot dogs and macaroni.”

“For family dinner,” Steve emphasizes, periodically stirring.

“…I’m not hungry.”

“You will eat.”

In the end, Tony ingests exactly three bites before pushing his plate away and stomping downstairs towards the basement, calling out that he will be late. He insists this is his official notice, in accordance with the rules Steve previously set forth.

So Steve cleans up and reads before getting ready for bed. He waits for Tony but falls asleep, waking in the morning to discover the other side tidy and unslept upon.

He finds Tony in the kitchen, pouring the last of the coffee into a mug.

“Tony… did you not sleep at all last night?” Steve asks. He looks pointedly at the empty pot, opening the cupboards to retrieve more grounds.

“Flash of inspiration. Had to work through it.”

“You didn’t go back to the office last night, did you?”

“Course not. Not after the stunt you pulled. By the way, basement is off limits. I’m making it my home lab, so no touchy. Need a sterile environment, and you are crawling with contagions.” Tony looks askance at his alpha before taking another sip of coffee.

“Right. Because of the two of us, I’m the one who hasn’t showered in over twenty-four hours,” Steve quips.

“There are drains down there. I could theoretically have installed a shower.”

“Well did you?”

“That’s not the point,” Tony replies, deflecting: “Don’t you have work? Why are you still here when there are independently-operating foreign regimes to crush?”

Tony has a point; damn him.

But when Steve returns later, he finds Tony had reinforced the basement and installed biometric access panels, effectively locking his alpha out. Tony comes home earlier as per Steve’s original directive, but he spends hours downstairs, only resurfacing for coffee and the occasional meal. Ideally, Steve would have liked to spend more quality time with his omega, but he’s not about to beg for crumbs of affection from the man.

Besides, Tony will have to come around eventually, specifically when he undergoes his heats. That will be the opportunity for Steve to prove to his omega how well he can take care of him. If he still insists on refusing sex, there are other way to lessen the effects of his heat, if not quell it completely. Steve imagines drawing Tony a cool bath, rubbing his back as he suffers through the hormonal rush. He will be so good to Tony, respectful of his space and boundaries…

Maybe then, Tony will trust him enough to let him in.

* * *

Steve is still waiting when almost three weeks later, Tony pushes a parcel of papers in his direction at breakfast as Steve is enjoying his third helping of pancakes.

“I need you to sign off on these and verbally verify your consent when the pharmacy calls,” he says. “It’s just a formality, a routine thing, but they require your consent.”

Steve reviews the documents, scanning through the first couple paragraphs. “What is it?”

“My prescriptions,” Tony clarifies nonchalantly, rolling his eyes and dropping his cheek to rest against his closed fist propped up by an elbow on the table. “Howard used to sign off on them, but since he sold me to you, they want new alpha permissions on file before they issue refills. It’s so patronizing.”

The medication names are unfamiliar, but their primary purpose is written clear as day in bold block letters halfway down. “These are prescriptions for birth control and heat suppressants.”

Tony shrugs. “Yeah, Howard used to hope the suppressants would kill my libido, but no such luck. And the birth control… Well, that one’s obvious. Can’t have the unbonded family heir be in a family way ahead of schedule,” he explains, pointing at the signature line, “So if you could just sign–”

“I’m not signing these,” Steve puts them down on the table then sits back and crosses his arms.

Tony is surprised. He sits up straight. “What do you mean?”

“These hormones mess with your body’s natural rhythms. No wonder you are like you are.”

“And what’s that, exactly?” he nearly growls, his voice positively acidic. “An independent thinker? A whore? Because that’s not the drugs, darling. That’s all-natural, signature Tony Stark.”

Mrs. Stark had been right; Steve is not an unfair man. What makes the situation with his omega easier is the realization that it’s not exactly Tony’s fault. Omegas are by nature hormonal people who require a firm hand to be brought to heel, but the alphas of this decade are too debauched and lazy themselves to provide what their counterparts needed. It was no wonder omegas like Tony had lost their way. Tony may be a fixer-upper, but then again, so is every other omega in this terrible future. They simply didn’t make them like Gail anymore, and Steve had to accept that, buck up and make do.

“It’s not just you. This whole future is corrupt,” he states.

“It’s the present, and you best get used to it because you’re living in it with the rest of us degenerates.” Tony leans over to jab the signature line. “Now sign.”

“No.”

“You’re denying me basic medical care!” he exclaims, clearly exasperated.

“It’s a perversion of nature!” Steve counters.

“So is the polio vaccine, but I don’t see you campaigning against that.”

“That’s different. Polio is a serious illness. Your heat is a natural process with an important purpose.”

“Steve,” Tony calms his voice as he tries to reason with his obstinate alpha, but the effort bristles against his very nature, causing his voice to go tight with anger instead, “I need control over my own body.”

“Not by modifying it. There are risks, like mood changes, stroke–”

“There are risks with not taking them, too!”

Steve scoffs. “Like what? Sex and babies?”

“Yes!” Tony roars, rubbing his eyes in frustration before admitting, “It’s- It’s just not a good time.”

“Then we’ll use condoms.”

“Sex isn’t happening at all without my pills,” he threatens, his voice dripping with irritation.

“Then I guess you’ll have to figure it out, because I’m not signing off on these.”

Tony gathers up his consent forms. “Have fun becoming best friends with your right hand.”

“You haven’t seen fit to see to my needs before, sweetheart. That is unlikely to change.”

That gives the omega pause. “Is that why you won’t sign off on my medications?”

_There Tony goes again, always thinking with his dick,_ Steve thinks rather unkindly.

“No. I already told you why. The hormones aren’t good for you. Not everything is about sex.”

Tony doesn’t look convinced.

* * *

It doesn’t sit well with Steve, how Tony had looked at him that morning, so he approaches his omega later that day. “Look, I just want to clarify a few things about your prescriptions.”

“It’s fine. I think you were pretty clear before where your priorities lie,” Tony insinuates brusquely, sidestepping his alpha to get to the stairs leading to the basement where he can hole up for yet another long night.

Steve blocks him. “Tony… I want you to know that as your alpha, my primary concern is your health. I’ve read up on hormonal regulation, and I don’t think it’s the best thing for you. Just know, when your heat does come, there are other options available if you still aren’t ready” – though he can’t imagine how or why Tony is still holding off, it’s ultimately his omega’s decision – “and I will help you every step of the way as you work through your heat naturally.”

“Uh huh. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Tony pushes past him, resentment radiating off him in waves.

At least Steve tried. He’ll have a chance to show him the truth of his words.

_Eventually._

* * *

It’s his 21st birthday, and Tony wants to see his mother. Steve can’t deny him, so he accepts their invitation to dinner that Friday, resolving to keep a close eye on his omega.

They’re greeted at the door of the Stark Mansion by the family butler.

“It is so good to see you, Master Tony, or is it Mister Rogers now?” Jarvis addresses Tony as he takes his coat.

Tony waves him off flippantly. “Oh come off it, Jarvis. You know I didn’t change my name,” but he doesn’t sound particularly insulted, clearly used to exchanging barbs with the old fairy.

“And you, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis practically bats his eyelashes at him. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us on this fine evening. If you need anything–”

“You’re wasting your time, you know, Jarvis. Do you seriously think Captain America has even noticed that preposterous new waistcoat of yours?” Tony indicates the butler’s red jacquard number that Steve hadn’t actually noticed beyond it being rather flamboyant for such a conservative family.

“Give it time, young sir. I’m feeling jolly lucky this evening, you know,” Jarvis says, granting Steve a coquettish grin.

Jarvis shows them to the parlor room, where Tony’s parents await their arrival. Maria sits on the settee couch while Howard is already at the bar, refilling what has to be at least his second scotch of the night. Steve has an odd sense of déjà vu. This is where it had all started, where he had made a deal with the devil for the hand of his troublesome omega.

“Captain Rogers, I am so glad you can join us tonight,” Maria greets Steve, kissing him on the cheek before turning to Tony. “Happy birthday, sweetie. _Mi sei mancato_.” She kisses him on one side which Tony returns before turning the other cheek to allow her a second kiss.

“_Anche tu mi sei mancanto, _Mom,” Tony replies. “I’m sorry if we’re late. _Quanto ha dovuto bere?_”

“You are just on time. _Terzo nell’ultima ora, non contando questo. Stai attento_. I see your alpha has instilled some good habits in you. He keeps you prompt,” she flatters Steve.

“Maria,” Howard calls out from the bar, as he pours out a second glass before he approaches the three. “No Italian in front of our guest. It’s bad enough you and Tony prattle on when I’m here.” He holds out the second glass to Steve.

Steve doesn’t accept, but Tony does, inspiring a dirty look from Howard. Not breaking eye contact with his father, Tony downs the entire glass in one gulp.

“You don’t speak Italian as well, Mr. Stark?” Steve inquires, drawing the other alpha’s attention.

“It’s Howard, and no, not a word. But a second language is good for children to learn, they say. ‘Conducive to the development of young minds.’ Can’t say it did much for Tony here as far as development of a moral compass is concerned, but the kid’s brilliant, so there’s that,” Howard takes a sip from his glass. “He can teach your kids Italian, but don’t let a weak omega try to teach ‘em nothing about respect. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“Darling, I’m sure Captain Rogers doesn’t want to hear about _his omega’s_ failings,” Maria attempts to gently remind him.

“Give the man some credit,” Howard slurs, gripping Maria’s arm too firmly. Steve can feel Tony stiffen, can see his fingers tightening around the glass and the minute hairs on his neck bristling. “He’s been living with our son over two months. He knows the boy is a deviant, degen–”

Steve reaches out to break the other man’s grip – “There was a fly,” he deadpans – disguising the motion as a brush off. “And I think you are too harsh in your assessment of Tony. He is a fine omega. I have no complaints.” It’s a lie of course, but a man like Howard Stark doesn’t deserve the truth, not when it can be weaponized against his family.

“Why don’t we head over to the dining room?” Maria suggests. “The chef has whipped up a wonderful birthday dinner for Tony with all his favorites.”

Tony’s eyes go wide. “He made Juicy Lucies and tots?”

“Palate of a low-rent nobody,” Howard remarks.

“Juicy Lucies and tots sound delicious,” Steve comments through grit teeth, his patience with Tony’s father wearing thin. He has no idea what either of those things are, but if his apparent agreement got the man to shut his trap, it would be worth it.

A Juicy Lucy turns out to be a sort of greasy burger monstrosity oozing too much cheese from the middle, while tots are simply mini hash browns. Steve has two out of spite with a heaping pile of the pocket hash browns on the side. Like Tony, he forgoes the pretentiously-small condiment container with the tiny spoon in favor of a large squeeze bottle of Heinz.

Howard sits at the head of the table between Maria and Tony, with Steve sitting on the other side of Tony. He continues to drink as he talks shop, bragging about Stark Industries’ military contracts and advancements in the field of warfare. “We’re about five years out from a workable prototype for nanotech armor–”

“Two, if I had been allowed total control over my team, and there was no delay in sourcing the necessary components,” Tony interjects before tossing another tot in his mouth and chewing obnoxiously. Howard looks displeased at the interruption, but his clear annoyance doesn’t deter Tony’s commentary. “But as it stands, I’m forced to take on dead weight and deal with the board’s budgetary restraints.”

“Your budget would bankrupt us,” Howard points out.

“Only if I’m wrong about the tech, which I’m not, but if we can just accelerate our timeline–”

“The board is not going to make its decisions based on the projections of a single omega–”

“An omega who cranked out our last three best-selling products that revolutionized the industry and put SI on the forefront of our field, garnering those defense contracts you love to talk about so much,” Tony counters.

“And who has a reputation for being an unbalanced risk-taker.”

“No more unbalanced than the current CEO.”

Perhaps out of habit or alcohol-fueled poor judgment, Howard’s hand shoots out to clasp Tony’s bonding gland much too tightly, his fingers digging into Tony’s skin. Tony yelps, but before Howard can deliver his punishment, Steve is on his feet, blocking the smack meant for his omega and twisting Howard’s hand off Tony with extreme prejudice. Howard screams, trying to extract his arm overextended at the elbow from Steve’s iron grip.

Steve doesn’t let go. “I tried to be diplomatic for Tony’s sake, but the truth of it is, I can’t stand alphas who need to beat an omega to feel big. You think you’re a tough guy, huh? You like slapping people around? Well, let’s see you take a shot at me!”

When Howard doesn’t take the bait, Steve releases him. Howard cradles his floppy arm as he sniffles but is otherwise silent.

“You lay a hand on Tony again, and I will knock your teeth down your throat,” Steve threatens, reaching behind himself to wrap a protective arm around Tony.

“Tony, we’re leaving now,” he orders. Across the table, Maria doesn’t protest, her hand covering her mouth in shock. Steve dips his head in her direction. “Ma’am, it’s been a lovely dinner, but it might be a while before Tony and I can come around again. I’m sure you understand.”

And with that, Steve exits, Tony in tow.

Jarvis is already at the door with their coats, ready to see them out. “Always a pleasure, Master Tony,” he says.

“Until next time, Jarvis,” Tony replies as he follows Steve out the door and into the warm summer night.

Steve pulls out his car keys, not wanting to waste a second more on Stark grounds, and is leading Tony to the passenger side to open the door for him when Tony abruptly stops short to pull him close, sandwiching himself between his alpha and the car. Wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck, he brings him down, planting a deep kiss square on his mouth, his tongue parting the seam of his lips to tentatively entwine with Steve’s own. Surprised, Steve freezes momentarily, but then returns his ardor, encapsulating the smaller man in his arms, lifting him up by his thighs and against the car for better leverage. He can feel the press of Tony’s erection against his stomach. It’s a wondrous thing, knowing he had pleased his omega.

Tony’s hands are on Steve’s face as they part. “Come on, let’s go home,” he murmurs, his voice raspy.

Steve hums, carefully placing the other man down on wobbly legs then popping the door open for him.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Tony points out, but he slides into the seat just the same.

“I know it’s old-fashioned, but sometimes, can’t you just let yourself have something nice for a change without any comments from the peanut gallery?”

On the ride home, Tony is the first to break the silence. “Thanks for... you know.”

“Defending your honor?” Steve clarifies.

“I was going to say for kicking Howard’s ass, but po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

“Hey, I got that reference.”

“Maybe this bonding situation isn’t a bust, you know.”

“So you aren’t ready to just call the whole thing off?”

Tony chuckles. “Naw, I think I’ll keep you. For now.”

* * *

Once at home, Steve allows Tony to lead him to their bedroom. He’s excited but uncertain what will happen, but then Tony tells him to sit on the bed, kneels between Steve’s parted legs, and works open his belt.

“Allow me to show you my appreciation,” he proposes, sliding off the accessory before setting about undoing Steve’s pants.

Steve stills his omega’s hands with his own. He needs to make something clear to Tony. “I didn’t do it so you’d have sex with me. Your father just pissed me off. You’re my omega, and no one treats you like that.”

“Only you?” Tony speculates, his tone a touch bitter.

“No. Not even me.”

That causes Tony pause. “Steve, I’m not doing this because you deserve it. I’m doing this because I want to,” he finally says, the button on Steve’s pants popping loose. Tony palms his half-hard erection, expertly fishing it out from the front slit of his boxers and pumping it to fullness. “This okay?”

“Yes, whatever you want to do,” Steve replies, stroking Tony’s hair down to his cheek. His thumb finds its way between Tony’s plush lips as he cups his chin to tip him up and admire his face. Tony lightly suckles the digit in imitation of what he could do with another more-sensitive part of Steve’s anatomy. Steve drinks in the visual. Would Tony actually–

When Steve removes his thumb, Tony sits up on his haunches to shift closer to his erection. He swirls his tongue around his cockhead, laving the underside with broad sloppy swipes of his tongue interspersed with manual strokes of his hand, pulling the foreskin up and down the shaft, using his saliva as lube and varying his speed and pressure. Steve groans, massaging Tony’s scalp and lightly twisting his fingers in Tony’s hair to encourage him to continue. When Tony finally takes his tip into his mouth, he looks up at Steve, checking his enjoyment, determining what moves produce the greatest response so he can repeat them. He swallows around Steve’s cock, taking as much in as he can and relocating his hands to stroke Steve’s inner thigh, prompting a full-body shiver.

However, when his fingers slide towards Steve’s perineum, Steve stops him. “I don’t… not my asshole,” he murmurs, his voice breathy. Tony withdraws back to the safety of Steve’s inner thigh as he works his dick, keeping the blow job sloppy and varying the sensations from his mouth, his tongue and lips.

As Steve nears orgasm and his knot begins to fill, Tony pulls off a bit, concentrating his oral efforts on the cockhead while gripping him tightly around his knot, using both hands to apply the requisite pressure. Steve cums in voluminous spurts, and Tony doesn’t retreat, choosing to swallow as his alpha comes down, finally pulling off him with a wet pop and licking the over-sensitized head clean. Finished, Tony sits back, wiping the saliva and cum off the corners of his mouth and chin with the back of his wrist.

Steve surges forward, pulling Tony up to kiss him, tasting the heady musk of himself overlying that of his omega. He clumsily fumbles with his omega’s pants until Tony unbuttons and pushes them down himself, taking his underwear off as well. Steve then lifts and lays him down on the bed, sliding his fingers down to slip into his entrance, already slick from their prior activities, pumping them in and out as Tony shutters, moaning against Steve’s lips and bucking his hips. He’s so wet, so responsive, and the slide is so smooth, Steve can’t wait to feel Tony on his cock some day soon, clenching beautifully tight around his growing knot as he does now around Steve’s large fingers. After Tony cums, Steve gathers him up, cradling him close against the curve of his body. Steve feels connected, wanted and needed for the first time in the future. Not as Captain America, the legend, but as Steve Rogers, the man.

Tony is the first to fall asleep, but Steve follows soon after, and for the first time in a long time, he dreams of the future, of family and belonging, and at the center of all this is Tony, arms open wide, welcoming him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue was lifted directly from Ultimates 1, specifically, a bit of the conversation between Jarvis and Tony about Steve noticing his waistcoat, and some of Steve’s threats to Howard were adapted from when he beat Hank Pym for the domestic assault of his wife, Jan Pym. Realistically, do I think Ults!Steve would have been upfront about his dislike of Howard and immediately try to beat some respect into him? Yeah, I do, but in this fic, he’s trying to be a smidgeon more considerate of Tony’s feelings, and beating his father in front of him on his birthday the minute he stepped into the man’s house might be a little much. This is also probably the last time Tony and Steve are going to be on the same page with each other for a while, so… enjoy that while it lasts.


	3. Maria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve makes a grave error.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case this isn’t obvious by the tags, the genre, and the set-up with Tony’s pills in chapter 2, this chapter will contain extremely dubious consent that is going to negatively affect Tony and his relationship with Steve. Steve denies Tony his pills, and as a result, Tony undergoes his heat, agreeing to sex with Steve under extreme duress. Although he’s not holding Tony down and is gentle and loving throughout it, Steve creates a situation where Tony essentially has to ask him for relief, though Steve doesn’t see it that way (at least at first). Afterwards, Tony becomes more moody. Steve keeps trying to fix him (sometimes in comic ways) without really understanding what is wrong with him. If that’s going to bother you, please back-out now because the rest of this fic primarily deals with the fallout of Steve’s decisions. It will take a while to get there, but this fic does have a happy ending, so… there’s that.

Steve wakes the following morning to Tony curled up against him, vulnerable and sleep-soft, his arm low and thrown over Steve’s bare hip and his nose nudging into his chest. It’s the first time Tony has allowed himself to be near Steve and touch him so casually in any state, much less one where he’s so defenseless. Steve can hardly believe his good fortune, and he feels grateful that his omega is finally coming around. He wraps an arm around Tony’s waist, relishing his proximity, his rare openness.

When Tony stirs, Steve retracts his touch and tenses, prepared for Tony to kick away and screech at him about boundaries, even if he had been first to cross the no-man’s land of their bed. To his surprise, Tony simply takes note of his position then rolls onto his back, yawning and scratching at his exposed stomach. “Mornin’ stranger,” he murmurs, his voice husky with the last vestiges of sleep.

“…Not a stranger,” Steve replies, amused by this new side of his omega.

“Right… I guess with that secret handshake we exchanged last night, we’re at least friends.”

“Or bonded.”

He chuckles at that, his smile unguarded and genuine. “You proposing already?”

“A little late for that,” Steve says, lifting up his left hand to show off his ring.

“Huh. I don’t think we ever properly consummated our bonding, you know,” Tony pretends to ponder this conundrum before offering, “Want to change that?”

That rouses Steve. He lifts his head up from its former recline, upper body propped up on his elbow. “You sure?”

“Mm hm,” Tony hums, scooting closer and pushing himself up to kiss the corner of Steve’s mouth. “But only if you’re up for it.”

Steve doesn’t have to be asked twice. He turns to kiss Tony, moving his leg to the other side of his omega to hover over him, pushing him gently into the mattress. Tony wraps his arms loosely around Steve’s neck to steady himself as Steve’s lips trail down to his bonding gland, kissing the skin there where Howard had left his mark the prior evening. He kisses the bruises tenderly, wanting to bring Tony pleasure in a spot where he had grown so accustomed to experiencing pain. Tony gasps as he curls up to press into his alpha’s body and shutters.

Having shed their pants the night before, Steve can feel Tony’s length against his own, hard and hot. He reaches between them, dragging his fingers across the slick of Tony’s orifice then wrapping his large hand around both their erections, holding them together as he pumps them. Tony whines, rutting into his hand, wanting more, so Steve knocks open his nightstand to blindly rummage through the drawer.

“What…” Tony starts to say.

Steve finds what he’s searching for, fishing out a condom. “You said you didn’t want children yet, right?” When Tony nods, his expression unreadable, Steve tears open the package, drawing back a touch to roll it down his length. “You’re not on your heat, but it’s coming soon.”

Tony surges up to kiss him again, and Steve takes his own erection to press it against Tony’s entrance, slipping the head in gently. He’s warm and wet, the slide as smooth and giving as he imagined it would be. He has to hold himself back from slamming in to feel Tony all around him squeezing tightly. He wants it to be good for his omega, and that means he has to be careful. He’s much stronger now, having had to relearn self-control since Project Rebirth to manage his new body. He wants to go slow, but Tony shimmies down, taking in more of his dick into that delicious heat.

“It’s alright, darling,” he murmurs against Steve’s skin as he sinks down on him until his balls sit flush against Tony’s ass. He’s so tight, stretched taut around Steve’s dick after having gone so long without. Steve groans then starts to move, slowly at first, but picking up the pace at Tony’s breathy encouragement.

Tony rolls his hips, rising to meet his thrusts, his arms wrapped around Steve’s torso, his hands running across the expanse of his back as Steve kisses him and holds him close. Steve’s own hands travel down to Tony’s pert ass, massaging the mounds as Tony encourages him to go faster, his orgasm building. Tony moans as Steve’s knot swells and he catches, Steve unable to do more than grunt and lie still as he expands, crests, and cums in his omega. He reaches between them, to grasp Tony’s erection and carefully pump him through to orgasm as he remains full and expanded inside. Steve watches his omega’s face, exquisite in his ecstasy, as he cums, the space between their bodies coated white.

They lie like that, connected and facing each other, Tony exhausted but sated, his head cradled in the crook of his elbow and a lazy smile gracing his features as he watches Steve.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough.

“Hey yourself,” Steve replies, reaching out to caress the side of Tony’s face, pushing the hair from his forehead.

“We should do that more often.”

Steve hums, his hand trailing to Tony’s upper back to pull him in, hold him close.

* * *

When Steve deflates and pulls out, he decides to get a run in, feeling high on the knowledge that Tony… well, probably doesn’t love him but might be well on his way. They’re in a good place now, and Steve savors it, wanting more. He slows as he approaches a flower shop, stopping a half block down to turn around, backtrack, and buy a bouquet of wildflowers before cutting his run short to return home.

Tony isn’t in their bed nor is he in the kitchen or bathroom, so Steve heads down to the basement, where the door to the lab has been left unlocked and open. Tony is inside, his back turned to Steve as he chats on the phone.

“…better than expected from someone Howard picked out. You should have seen the bastard last night. Steve nearly twisted his arm off… No, I’m pretty sure Mom called the family doctor,” Tony laughs. “Yeah, they still make house calls if you pay them a high-enough retainer,” he says. He turns around, spotting Steve at the entrance. His face lights up, and he holds up a finger to request a minute to finish his phone call.

Steve is elated that his omega is happy to see him, and he steps forward to place the bouquet on his workbench. That’s when he spots it: Two unmarked half-full prescription bottles.

“Hey sugarbear, I’m going to have to call you back.” Tony hangs up before addressing Steve, discreetly stepping around the workbench to hide the medications from Steve’s view. He’s far too late.

“Steve, you’re back early.” His tone sounds artificial, the easy happiness in his voice replaced by one carefully constructed.

“…Yeah,” Steve peers over his shoulder. “Tony, what are those?”

“Hm?”

He sidesteps his omega to point at the prescription bottles. “These.”

“Nothing you should be concerned about.”

Tony flinches when Steve shifts into his Captain America voice. “I asked you a question. Are those–” he grabs the bottles to peer through the translucent sides, “–the pills I expressly said you couldn’t have?”

“They’re leftovers from my last refill,” Tony lies easily. Deception is as easy as breathing for someone like him with his upbringing. Steve should have realized much sooner.

“You asked me to fill out those forms almost two months ago, and there’s at least a three month supply here. Pharmacies don’t dispense that much at once,” he points out.

Tony abandons all pretenses. “Steve,” he says, “I need my pills. You can’t–”

“I can, and I will.”

“It’s my body. What gives you the right–”

“I am your alpha. I have every right,” Steve snaps.

Tony can’t speak, too stunned and hurt to even mount a counterargument.

So Steve presses on. “I told you these were bad for you. How did you even get them? And why are they not in their original blister packs?” He stops his tirade, realization dawning. “These aren’t even legal, are they?”

Tony recovers, his defiance returning. “You blocked the legal route so I had to find my own source.”

“Who?”

He crosses his arms. “Nope. Tony Stark is no snitch.”

“I asked you a question,” Steve reminds him.

“And I’m opting not to answer.”

“You don’t even know what’s in these! It could have untold number of impurities or be outright poisonous. There’s no FDA regulation on black market medications!”

“If you cared about all that, you would have ensured I had access to the genuine article by signing the fucking consent forms, but until then, these work fine.” He tries to snatch them back from Steve only to be rebuffed. Steve holds them close to his chest, the plastic starting to creak in his tightening grip.

His voice is dangerously calm. “Who, Tony?”

“Give them back!”

“No. Who gave these to you!”

But Tony remains silent, ever-stubborn.

“Tony…” Steve warns. “Tell me.”

“What are you going to do if I don’t? Beat me? Because let me tell you, I have a lot of experience with that.”

“I am well aware. That’s why you act out so much. That and these damn pills.”

“It’s not the pills–”

But Steve is on a roll. “Your father is bad enough, but then your mother–”

“Shut up! You shut your goddamn mouth!” Tony explodes.

Steve reaches out his free hand to grasp Tony’s shoulder, to steady him. “He hurt you – he kept hurting you – and she did nothing to stop it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Then tell me I’m wrong,” he challenges.

Tony doesn’t. He can’t. “How dare you? You weren’t there! She…” he fumes, shaking with rage. “You don’t get to say that! Only– only I…”

Steve’s voice goes soft, more determined. “She failed to protect you, Tony. I won’t make that same mistake.” _Even if it’s from yourself._ He holds up the bottle of pills, shaking them once in Tony’s face to draw his attention. “Now, tell me,” he commands.

Tony stares up at him, rebellious to the last. “Fuck. You.”

Steve inhales, audible and sharp. “Fine. If you don’t tell me who gave these to you, I am grounding you. Indefinitely. No working outside your home lab. No visitors without me present. I will inspect all incoming packages and confiscate contraband.” He pockets the medication. He can flush them later. “You don’t give me a name; I don’t know who I can trust, so I will trust no one.”

“You can’t do that. You have to leave for work sometime,” Tony points out, severely underestimating Steve’s resolve in this matter.

“I work for Uncle Sam, and my particular position comes with a lot of downtime, a lot of resources,” Steve counters. “And even when I have to leave, you don’t think I can’t convince Fury to put a protection detail on you while I’m out?”

“I can’t believe I ever thought I could trust you!”

“Well, that makes two of us, sweetheart.”

Tony is breathing heavily, looking unjustly betrayed. “Get out.”

Steve obliges, taking Tony’s phone and leaving the wildflowers on his workbench. In a rage, Tony curses and violently throws them directly into the trash.

* * *

That night, Tony sleeps on a cot in the basement. Steve is not particularly surprised, but he is surprised when Tony fails to emerge three days later. Steve has a meeting at the Triskelion he can’t miss, so he is forced to call in a protection detail for the three hours he will be gone.

They report no activity.

He leaves Tony meals outside the locked basement door. Sometimes, they’re gone. Often, they’re not.

Steve is worried of course, but the lab is reinforced, secure. It keeps Steve out, but Tony is trapped inside as well. If he wants out, he’s going to have to go through Steve.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t try a couple times, but Steve camps out in the living room. He is a light sleeper with a preternaturally good sense of hearing, and he wrestles Tony to the ground, kicking and screaming, before he can make it to the door.

* * *

The following Saturday (the eighth day of Tony’s house arrest) brings a visitor: Colonel James “Rhodey” Rhodes. Tony can’t refuse him, so he comes up to the living room to conduct their visit under his alpha’s watchful eye, in accordance with Steve’s directives.

“Hey Tones, how have you been, man?”

“Oh, you know, fine. Just peachy,” Tony replies, in a tone that indicates he’s anything but. He sits slumped over on the couch across from his best friend, his fingers nervous and jittery, batting an erratic pattern across his thighs. He looks up. “You?”

“Good. You know, the usual.” Rhodes’s eyes flit to Steve sitting on the opposite side of the couch. “I just haven’t heard from you in a week, and I thought I’d stop by. We could go to Barney’s. Have a drink for old time’s sake,” he suggests.

“Tony isn’t leaving,” Steve replies in his stead.

“And why not?” Rhodes asks, turning towards him. His body is taut, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation from Steve. Steve wonders, and not for the first time, how Tony could have an alpha as a best friend. They must have clashed constantly, his personality being what it is.

Steve remains calm. “Tony knows what he did, and he is free to go as he pleases, once he provides me a name.”

“A name?”

“Tony has been taking illicit substances. I want his supplier. Then, he is free to go.”

Rhodes looks surprised and more than a little worried. “Tony… you aren’t using again, are you? I thought you quit.”

“He’s not talking about the blow, Rhodey,” Tony clarifies, not quite meeting his eye. He sounds a touch ashamed as he admits, “He’s talking about my heat suppressants and birth control.”

“Your…” Rhodes stares hard at Steve. “Those are his prescriptions. They’re perfectly legal.”

“He doesn’t need them.”

“What? Of course he does!” He stands, ignoring Tony’s soft recitation of his name, his pleading for his friend to sit down and shut up, but Rhodes presses on. “You want to know who gave those to him? It was me. He was worried and desperate and needed an out.”

Steve rises to meet him, nearly towering over the other alpha in challenge. He had never thought–

“He deserves a choice, and if you weren’t so selfish, he wouldn’t have needed to call me,” Rhodes spits out before addressing Tony, “We should have bonded when you still had the chance to get out. Fuck your father, and fuck Stark Industries; you could have built your own company. Howard wouldn’t have stood a snowball’s chance in hell against you.”

_Tony could have… with Rhodes? _That’s new information Steve should have been made aware of long ago. “Tony is my omega,” he says, his voice low and gravelly with barely-contained rage. “I think you need to leave. Now. Before I put your head through a wall.”

“Not without Tony.”

Rhodes takes on a defensive stance as Steve’s foot slides back, his right hand already forming a fist when Tony stands and inserts himself between them, bodily blocking him from his friend. “Rhodey, I think you should go,” he says, backing into him while facing Steve’s ire.

“But–”

Tony turns to face him. “Go!”

There’s a beat, then: “…Alright, but only because you asked me to, and I think the alphas in your life have already trampled too much on your wishes without me joining their ranks,” Rhodes says. “Call me later.”

“He won’t,” Steve interjects.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Rhodes states sternly, but Tony manages to see him out before the situation can come to blows.

When Tony returns, Steve is scowling. “You are not to associate with that alpha anymore.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“He wants you for himself.”

“No, he doesn’t. We’re not like that,” Tony objects.

Does he really think Steve is that stupid? “Well, it sure sounded like it. He would have bonded with you, if you had agreed.”

Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes, before explaining, “He doesn’t want me. He was just being a friend. He saw the alphas Howard tried to pawn me off on before – old, lecherous assholes, the lot of them – and he didn’t want me to end up in the exact situation I’m in right now.” He glares pointedly at Steve.

Steve steps into his space. “You know what I think?” he murmurs, low and dangerous. “I think you hate yourself so much, you won’t allow yourself to be happy. Somebody treats you nice for the first time in your life, and you have to go and ruin it.” He reaches out to firmly clasp Tony’s bonding gland. “Now, no more lies, Tony. Tell me the truth: Did you sleep with him?”

Tony hesitates, not quite meeting his alpha’s eyes, and Steve already knows. “…That was a long time ago,” he hedges, confirming Steve’s worst fears. “And it was just the one time.”

Steve can’t believe it. Tony had actually…

“You are not to associate with him anymore. Not in person or over the phone. He is trying to sabotage us.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh please, if you’re going to ban everyone I’ve ever fucked, we’d have to move out of the City for me to have any social life whatsoever, and that’s counting the omegas as well, darling,” he says flippantly, and Steve’s hackles rise. “I warned you before our bonding ceremony. I don’t know which part of ‘infamous slut’ you didn’t understand. If you couldn’t handle it, you should have backed out.”

Steve breathes out slowly; he is almost impressed with how endlessly patient he can be with the smart-mouthed omega standing before him. “I’m not saying you have to cut off everyone, or that I need a list – I don’t want or even deserve to know everyone and everything you’ve done before we met – but Rhodes is an active detriment to our relationship, and I will not have him undermine us.”

“_You_ are an active detriment to our relationship,” Tony counters, his tongue as poisonous as a viper’s.

Still, Steve tries to maintain a level head. “Tony, I want you to listen carefully. I am going to trust you to not deliberately flout my rules. You can go out; you can go back to work at SI, but you will not take any medications I have expressly forbidden. You will not contact Rhodes again, and if he calls you, I expect you to get rid of him,” he says firmly, his voice brooking no argument. “If I catch you again, there will be hell to pay. Understood?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Understood?” He repeats, pressing firmly on Tony’s bonding gland.

Tony tries to pry him off, but he can’t even dislodge a single pinky finger. “…Yes,” he finally yields.

“Good.” Steve steps in to embrace him, to comfort him after such a long, trying punishment, but Tony pushes him off. Steve allows it, and he watches as Tony stomps downstairs, back towards his basement sanctuary.

* * *

Tony is no longer physically affectionate with Steve. In fact, he barely speaks to him at all. Steve misses it, that brief period of time when Tony might have loved him, but he is willing to sacrifice it all for his omega’s health. Being a bonded alpha means he has to make the tough decisions, even if his omega doesn’t see it that way.

Instead, Steve purchases some soothing bath salts and various dildos in preparation for Tony’s upcoming heat, which should hit any day now that he’s not medicated. He is under no illusions that Tony will want his intimate help, not when he’s still so unjustifiably angry with him.

* * *

Another week passes, and Tony wakes up feverish. He sheds his clothing down to his underwear, and when that isn’t enough, he slips that off as well. He wants to peel his skin back, expose his burning flesh to the air conditioned room, but he suspects even that won’t be enough to quell the fire within, to cure what ails him.

“Please… Steve,” he manages, panting and breathy as a spasm quivers through him. “Please. It- It hurts. I need… I need…”

Steve shushes Tony. “I know, sweetheart. I know,” he whispers softly, careful of his heightened senses. “I’ve got you.” He places a cool wet towel against Tony’s forehead and one over his chest which has flushed to a bright red. “How does that feel? Is that better?”

“Nngh,” Tony whimpers. “Too hot.”

“Alright, how about we try a bath?” Steve picks him up and carries him to the master bathroom, where he has drawn up a cool bath. He carefully deposits Tony inside to submerge him up to his nipples, getting his own button-up wet past the elbows. He reaches over and pulls a dildo from the box. Tony takes it with limp fingers and slips it under the water, where he works it in and out of himself. Steve looks away, trying to ignore the display – this is a private medical procedure, damn it – but with pheromones heavy in the air alongside Tony’s little frustrated moans and cries of distress, Steve’s own dick stiffens with interest.

Tony’s wet hand grasps at his bicep, drawing Steve’s attention. His eyes are dilated, almost black with desire. “I can’t, Steve. I- I need…” He shivers, his lips mouthing around nothing as he struggles to form his request. So, instead he reaches out to stroke Steve’s bulge through his pants as he cries. “Please… Steve.”

“…You want out of the bath?”

Tony nods, his face almost pained. “Mm hm.”

Steve lifts him back out, swaddling him in a large fluffy towel to take him back to the bed, where he carefully dries off the dripping excess, letting his damp skin cool in the open air. When he tries to hand him another dildo, larger this time, Tony simply shakes his head and grabs his wrist, pulling his hand towards his dick, which is reddish-purple with need. Steve takes him in hand and Tony nearly weeps with relief as he tentatively jerks him off, but Tony grows frustrated with his pace and starts rutting into his closed fist. It’s still not enough, a fact made readily apparent when Tony jumps Steve, pulling him down onto the bed then crawling up his torso to push him on his back. Steve manages to hold him off just long enough to fumble for a condom to slip on before Tony mounts him. He’s practically nonverbal and crying as he rides Steve to relief, his hips stuttering and rhythm off to an almost uncomfortable degree. Still, with the air thick with Tony’s heat, the almost-rough motion of Tony sliding up and down combined with how long it has been since anyone has actually touched Steve, Steve’s body is quick to respond, and when he knots him, Tony cries out, collapsing on top of Steve as he cums as well.

After Steve is able to slip out, Tony is back to making needy vocalizations as he curls up into Steve’s body, wanting and anxious for his touch. So, Steve lays him out and resolves to take his time, to satisfy Tony while he is in this state, to make it good for him.

He pushes back into his omega’s used, puffy hole as Tony moans. Though facing him, he doesn’t quite look at Steve, his vacant eyes unfocused, still dilated and glazed over with pleasure. His dark hair is sweat-slicked to his forehead and flesh hot and pliant under his alpha’s touch. When Steve presses down on Tony, he practically mewls, his back arching and hips rising to plaster himself against the broad planes of Steve’s chest and stomach, their skin tacking together from a mix of sweat and cum. His dick lies heavy, dark and straining, trapped between them. He’s so responsive, so soft and sweet to Steve’s advances in this state. He will let Steve do anything to his body. Anything at all. The thought shouldn’t inspire Steve’s knees to liquefy, his breath to hitch, and the swell of possessive lust to spread across his chest, but it does. He won’t take advantage of the situation… much, but he is curious what it would be like to kiss him when he’s so soft and unguarded. So, he does just that, Tony kissing him back with a fevered sort of desperation, as if he can’t get enough of his alpha.

And Steve takes what he can get, over and over and over.

* * *

Tony’s heat breaks late the second day.

Afterwards, he’s in the shower for an hour until Steve deigns to check up on him. Peeking into the master bathroom, he peers through the glass door. Inside, Tony stands, arms braced against the wall, spray hitting the back of his downturned head with streams coming down in rivulets through his flattened hair, creating a short curtain that covers his face. Steam billows out, casting a gauzy atmosphere over the whole scene. Tony doesn’t even notice when Steve approaches soundlessly, stripping down to join him. When Steve wraps his arms around him from behind, Tony curses and shoves him back, turning to plaster himself against the wall and away from Steve, his face affright and thigh curved in front and over to hide his vulnerable sex.

Steve holds his hands up in front of him, palms out to demonstrate to his skittish omega that he has nothing to fear. “It’s only me, sweetheart.”

Tony’s face twists into a feral snarl. “Get out.”

* * *

Like clockwork, Tony’s next heat strikes six weeks later, but instead of waiting out his heat until it overwhelms him, Tony preemptively propositions Steve.

“So, my heat is due in two days,” he mumbles, not quite looking at Steve across the dinner table. He pushes his dinner around his plate, probably hoping Steve doesn’t notice he isn’t really eating. “I was wondering if you’d… help me through it.” He sounds almost resigned.

Steve is disappointed at Tony’s less-than-enthusiastic attitude, but he’s not about to deny his omega. “Of course, Tony.”

When the time comes, Tony gets on his hands and knees, presenting his dripping hole to Steve. “Wear a condom,” he instructs him.

Steve complies, gently running his hands over his back and around his front to fondle his chest.

Tony pushes off his touch none-too-gently. “None of that,” he orders brusquely. “Just… do what’s necessary, alright?”

“…Okay,” Steve agrees, restricting his wandering hands to either side of Tony’s hips as he enters him from behind. Tony’s breath hitches, and he stifles his groans into a pillow as Steve works his dick into him at the standard pace, with any further attempts to bring his omega additional pleasure rebuffed until Steve gives up entirely. The sex is perfunctory, feels almost purely clinical, designed to really satisfy no one, including his omega, but if this is what Tony wants, Steve will provide.

It becomes their new normal, a routine to which they conform, pre-determined by Tony’s biology. Steve had hoped Tony would soften to him eventually, but opposite expectation, Tony becomes distant, denying Steve even the smallest of intimacies: never a kiss, an embrace, or brush of a hand across his shoulders, nothing.

Most mornings, Steve wakes to Tony curled up at the very edge of his side. Some days, Tony isn’t there at all, having spent the night in his lab once again. They move like strangers orbiting each other, and when Tony is forced to interact with his alpha, he is short with Steve and purposely antagonizes him. Steve tries not to take the bait, but occasionally, tempers flare and he is compelled to punish Tony. He temporarily takes away privileges or forces him to clean in the least time-saving fashions like back at the army barracks, but nothing he does seems to work as Tony’s behavior becomes increasingly moody and erratic.

“Good morning, Tony,” Steve had greeted him, rather innocuously in his opinion.

Tony grunts, not even bothering to so much as look in Steve’s general direction. He tries not to these days.

“It’s common courtesy to return a greeting.”

“Fuck you.”

Sometimes, Steve dreams of Tony actively and affirmatively participating in sex like he had on his birthday. He touches himself, masturbating to the memory of Tony’s eyes, clear and full of intent instead of muggy and vacant, and his motions enthusiastic and deliberate instead of desperate and flailing. That smile the next morning instead of a cold empty bed. Even non-sexual contact. The way Tony briefly allowed Steve to touch him, hold him, when Tony had reached for him for comfort and safety. Steve misses it, misses him, and he wonders whether they can ever go back.

* * *

Maria still visits from time to time on weekends, and Tony pretends everything is fine. He even allows Steve to sit close to him, their legs touching as he chats with his mother.

“How are you, Tony? _Sembri pallido_,” she asks politely, nibbling on a biscuit Steve had laid out for them.

“_Non sono stato fuori_. I’m fine, Mom. Steve and I are settling in well,” Tony replies evenly, taking a sip of coffee.

“That’s good to hear. _Il colonnello mi ha chiamato. Mi ha parlato di te_. Your father sends his regards.”

“I’m sure he does. _Non ti preoccupare_. Has his arm recovered? I think I saw it still in its sling, but he doesn’t stop by R&D too often these days.”

“_Possiamo liberarci di lui._ He has long recovered. Physically. His pride is another matter altogether,” Maria answers primly.

Steve returns from the kitchen, carrying a kettle filled with more hot water and offering her a refill on her tea, which she declines. “With all due respect, Mr. Stark should learn to keep his hands to himself,” he says, throwing in his two cents on the matter.

Maria regards him with a curious expression Steve thinks might be disapproval. “Hmmm… that _is_ a valuable lesson.”

Steve supposes he should expect no less from Tony’s mother, an omega who stood by as her alpha abused their child. It’s no surprise that she would continue to defend the man, but he still finds the subtle reprimand disappointing.

* * *

Steve resorts to asking for relationship advice from Bucky, one of the few people he would even consider divulging such a personal issue.

“Tony is doing what now?” Bucky asks as he sits on his deck while his family waits inside.

Steve leans against a pillar, looking out into his backyard. “He keeps pushing me away. Won’t talk, not really, and I can’t even make heads or tails of what’s going on with him. Just up and cut me off completely. What goes on in that omega’s head, Bucky? I’ve tried to be a decent fella. I don’t lay a finger on him he doesn’t ask for, and I put up with his crude ways and strange views, but nothing’s ever enough. He keeps wanting everything on his terms, and I try to compromise, you know. We moved out of Brooklyn. He still has his job so long as he’s home for dinner. I even cook for him and clean most days because he’s pretty useless when it comes to that sort of thing,” he explains, turning to face Bucky. He knows he’s being selfish. Bucky has company, and it’s a bad time, but: “Look, pal. I’m sorry. I know you’ve got the family over for lunch and everything. I just didn’t know who else to call and…” he turns away, not wanting his best friend to see how soft he’d become, to see the tears streaming down his face. “Hell, I don’t know anybody else, Bucky. I don’t even have other friends…”

But Bucky doesn’t care; he’s never cared about Steve showing weakness or thought less of him for it. He simply stands, wrapping his arms around Steve to hug him, as they had done decades before when Bucky had been much younger and less stooped, back when the friendship taboos between alphas had been much more lax.

It’s the first time in a while since anyone has touched Steve, and he relaxes into the embrace, grateful that some things never change.

When Steve calms down, Bucky sits him down next to him on the bench. “Stevie, I know it might seem a little confusing, but omegas these days… they want what omegas have always wanted.”

“You don’t know Tony like I do. Trust me; he’s an aberration,” Steve insists. “He’s nothing like Gail. He’s stubborn and spiteful and demanding–”

Bucky whistles low. “I sometimes forget how little time you and Gail spent together before you went off to fight in the war.”

“Hm?”

“You know when I was courting Gail, I bought her this box of chocolates – a nice box, cost me a whole dollar back when a private in the army only made $55 a month. Anyways, I buy her this box of chocolates, but they’re the soft centers, and she only liked the nuts and chews. I didn’t know that at the time, but I get her this box she don’t like, and what does she do? I catch her chuckin’ individual chocolates out the second-story window to the boys returning home from the war when I come to pick her up for our date.”

Steve is surprised. He had never known that side of her. “Gail did that?”

“Yeah, I was mighty sore, but you know, I love her, and she was real sorry, so…” Bucky shrugs. “She’s a strong-willed one, though. Knows what she likes and what she doesn’t, and isn’t afraid to let you know which is which.”

In retrospect, Steve supposes Bucky is right. Gail had been strongly against his enrollment in Project Rebirth and was angry when he joined up anyway over her objections. She didn’t talk to him for two weeks straight. It was something Tony would have done. Well, Tony might have gone a step further and engineered a way to get him booted from the program, but still.

“I’m sure if you listen to Tony, he’ll tell you what he wants,” Bucky advises him. “You can make him happy if you just pay attention.”

* * *

So, Steve follows Bucky’s advice and pays attention to Tony’s cues, both verbal and non. He takes note of how sullen Tony seems, how unhappy and dissatisfied. These feelings appear to intensify after his heats, when his behavior and self-seclusion become even worse than average. Now, this is something Steve can fix.

He asks around at S.H.I.E.L.D. but most of his coworkers are loathe to help him, their ears pinking at his request. He finally gets some direction from a pretty omega in accounting, who gives him a name and an address to what turns out to be an omega-run sex shop. That doesn’t seem quite right, but if it has what he needs, Steve will have to buck up and patronize this establishment of ill-repute.

The saleswoman is nice, friendly, and shows him an assortment of options, nudging him towards an old tried-but-true model she swears by. He thanks her, bringing his prize home to give to Tony, hoping this will improve his mood. But when he presents the package to him, his omega simply stares at the box containing what is ostensibly billed as a ‘personal massager.’

“Do you know what that is?” he asks tentatively.

Steve looks perplexed. “What? A vibrator?”

“Okay, that answers that.”

“Tony, this is a medical device.”

“Uh huh. Go on.”

“To treat your… you know, your omega problems,” Steve clarifies, dropping his voice.

“My what,” Tony deadpans, expression visibly annoyed.

Let no one say Steve didn’t try to be discreet. “Okay, you want me to come out and say it? You’re moody and erratic all the time. You’re obviously suffering from an acute case of hysteria, and this will help calm you down a bit.”

Tony messages his temple with steepled fingers. “…You think an orgasm will what? Make me more docile?”

“It’s not a big deal. My mother and Gail both used to have them. It’s a common problem among omegas, and there’s no shame in–”

“Fuck you, darling.”

“I’m only trying to help you.”

“No. You’re trying to figure out a way to make me easier to control,” he counters. “I’m surprised you haven’t suggested a lobotomy.”

“They don’t do lobotomies anymore.”

“I know th– Wait… how do you know that?” Tony looks at Steve, at the guilt clear in his face. “Oh my God, you actually looked into it, you fucker! You absolute asshole! I can’t believe–”

Steve crosses his arms defensively. “Look, I wouldn’t have gone through with it, not when I read up on all the side effects, so even if it would have worked–”

“Lobotomies don’t work!” Tony exclaims.

“Well, I know that now! Medical science has advanced a lot since my day!”

He throws up his hands. “Thank God for small miracles! Otherwise, I’d be sitting placidly in a chair somewhere, rocking back and forth while mumbling incoherently and shitting myself for the next fifty years just because you can’t handle a little personality!”

“Tony, you are out of control, and I just want to help you, so I got you this vibrator,” Steve tries again, hands on Tony’s shoulders to still him. “It’s minimally invasive. The gal at the store even said it has been a bestseller since the seventies, so you know it’s good quality.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh well, if it’s a bestseller, that changes everything.”

“Why are you being so difficult? I got you a nice gift–”

“How do you not get why this would be a problem? Were alphas really this dense in the forties?”

“You know what. Here,” Steve picks up the box once again, offering it to Tony. “I got this for you. According to pictures of fully clothed people on the back of the box, it also makes a decent back massager. Use it. Don’t use it. It’s all the same to me. I just want you to be happy.”

Tony doesn’t accept it. “You want me to be easier to deal with. There’s a difference.”

“If you _were_ happy, it would be _easier_ to be bonded to you. I’ve tried everything–”

“Except listening to me.”

That is expressly what Steve had been doing for the past week. “I do listen. You think I don’t?”

“Then maybe comprehension is your problem,” Tony scoffs, “and here I thought English was your first language.”

“It would help if every other word out of your mouth wasn’t sarcasm.”

“You. Are. Impossible.”

And with that, Tony leaves. Steve watches him go, resolving to put the vibrator in his nightstand. It might come in handy some day, when his omega finally swallows his pride and admits he has a problem.

* * *

It’s the day before Tony’s fifth heat, and they’re fighting again.

It had started as something small and had snowballed to the point where Steve had slept on the fold-out futon in the study to lodge his protest. Normally, Tony wouldn’t care, but–

“Are you going to lock me in the bedroom so you can sleep in the study again?” Tony asks the following day, as he lies in bed, once again stripped down to his underwear as his heat grows in intensity.

Steve steps closer, but doesn’t touch him. “Why would I do that?

“To punish me.”

He may be pissed, but he would never want Tony to suffer in that way. “I wouldn’t do that, Tony,” Steve says, reaching out to soothe him, stroking his hip as he pulls down the waistband of his underwear, revealing the V of his abdomen.

Tony keens, the drag of cloth on his over-sensitized skin almost painful. “Oh, so it’s going to be like that,” he croaks out. “Just… no pictures, no videos.”

“…Alright.” Steve had never considered those as options anyway.

Tony cries as an aching twinge wracks through his body. “No… no permanent damage. I- I can take a lot, but… but I’ve never… not with someone so- so strong.”

That alarms Steve, causing him to stop touching Tony immediately, much to his omega’s distress. Still, he needs to clarify a couple things before they can get started. “Tony, what do you think is about to happen?”

Tony shakes his head weakly. “Nope. Not giving you ideas. Least I’m wet for it. Jus… Just no permanent damage, okay?” he tries to bargain, even as he shifts closer to his alpha, completely undermining any last-ditch negotiations.

It’s obvious Tony thinks Steve will punish him in his vulnerable state by making it hurt, by causing him harm when he’s too weak and needy to fight back.

Steve rushes to disabuse him of that notion. “Oh sweetheart, I’m not… I just want to make you feel good.” Steve touches him gently, feeling the trembling of his stomach as Tony whimpers but leans into his touch despite his fear. So, Steve resolves to be extra soft, extra careful with his omega. “Shhh… Tony, I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers. He drops his pants, slides off Tony’s underwear and shows him just how conscientious, how attentive, he can be.

* * *

It will be their first Christmas together, and Maria had somehow convinced both Howard and Tony to celebrate at Stark Mansion. Together.

“Remember what happened on your birthday?” Steve had reminded him, but Tony had brushed off his concerns.

“It’s Christmas, and I promised Mom to play nice.”

“Okay, but if he lays a finger on you, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he had warned him. “I’m going to do a hell of a lot more than dislocate his arm.”

Steve never gets a chance to test his resolve when Howard and Maria Stark die in a car accident on the evening of December 16, 1991. Howard had been driving; the road had been slick, and though the authorities had never conducted a formal toxicology screening, Steve suspects the man had been drunk.

Tony is understandably devastated. He cracks open a couple bottles and drinks like a fish. Steve finds him later on the floor of his lab, which he had neglected to lock, curled into the fetal position around a half-empty bottle of scotch. He whimpers when Steve collects him in his arms to take him upstairs to their room, latching onto the human contact, despite their ongoing conflict.

“Truce,” he slurs, though it comes out more like _thruce_. “Jus’ one night, ‘kay? One night where you ain’t you, and I’m not me, an’ we can pretend, yeah?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Steve agrees, settling him down on the bed, but when he gets up to leave, Tony holds on, barely grasping his sleeve with liquor-weakened fingers.

“We’re not us tonight,” he repeats, “You stay.”

Steve is wary at first, thinking Tony will lash out like a feral cat at any moment, but he embraces him anyway as Tony cuddles up with him for the night, Steve’s arms laying across his waist as he breathes in the scent of Tony’s hair mixed with an alcoholic sweat that has his nose crinkling. It’s the feeling more than the smell that reminds Steve of Tony’s birthday so many months ago, and he’s hit with a sense of acute longing for a time when Tony lay willingly in his arms, sober and happy.

In the morning, hostilities will resume, and Tony will leave, but just for tonight, Steve holds him tight, calms his restlessness, and rocks him through the wracking sobs threatening to shatter him. They’re not domestic enemies but just two men, seeking comfort in each other.

When Steve wakes, Tony is gone. Steve deduces from the locked basement that he’s in his home lab. He doesn’t come out for days, but Steve notices things moving around the townhouse – a mug in the sink, the swiftly dwindling coffee reserves, the newspaper with the finance section removed – enough to know that Tony is alive.

By the fifth day, Steve considers a blowtorch, but Tony resurfaces, puffy-eyed and uncharacteristically subdued. There are too many things to do: a funeral to plan and the inheritance and succession to iron out.

The funeral is a somber affair, one that Steve suspects Tony remembers very little of, considering how sloshed he had gotten. The subsequent will reading is probably even more of a blur to his grieving omega, but at least the instructions are relatively straightforward. As an only child, Tony inherits Stark Industries and all associated properties, but ownership transfers automatically to his alpha, Steve Rogers. Of course, Steve can’t make heads or tails of the venture, so he leaves the business in Tony’s capable hands with the understanding that Tony will eventually step back from active management of the company and appoint a successor to take over the day-to-day operations. Tony wants to hire Jarvis to manage their household as well, but Steve refuses. They don’t need a butler, and he doesn’t like how disrespectful Jarvis can be to Tony, thinking him a bad influence, an unnecessary hold-over from his troubled childhood. Tony is too tired and despondent to argue, but he keeps the old fairy on payroll, tasking him with the upkeep of Stark Mansion until such a time Tony takes up residence there, if ever.

Tony’s behavior deteriorates even further as he falls apart. He keeps testing Steve, riling him up and expecting him to fight back, to finally cross that line Steve promised never to even approach. Steve is tempted sure, but he takes out his frustrations on punching bags and targets he encounters on missions for S.H.I.E.L.D., dispatching them with a little more force than strictly necessary. More than once, Fury had reprimanded him for rendering a potential source unusable via his retrieval methods, but really, it’s Fury’s own fault. If he had wanted finesse, he should have known better than to send Captain “Punch-a-Nazi” America.

His home life already requires the full stock of his limited patience, Steve having earmarked all of it for dealing with Tony, leaving nothing for the terrorists and would-be dictators unfortunate enough to cross his path.

Tony had attacked him in mid-January, not too long after his sixth heat, the first since his parents’ deaths.

“I’m not your father, Tony,” Steve rages as he restrains his omega. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

The man struggles in his grip, which Steve allows him to break out of in order to put some distance between them. Tony brushes off his shirt, straightening it out in the aftermath of their scuffle. “Not yet anyway, because I haven’t pushed you hard enough, angered you enough, but one day, I’ll break you – it’s what I do best – and you will,” he states, arms crossed the protect himself, close himself off both physically and emotionally. “I’d rather not care about you when that happens.”

_That does it._ “I love you, you idiot!”

“No. No you don’t!” Tony rages, not backing down in the face of Steve’s anger. “If you did, you wouldn’t treat me like chattel.”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t keep trying to help you,” he counters.

“Help me?” Tony chuckles. “That’s rich.”

Steve runs his fingers through his hair, exhaling in frustration. “Yeah, I’m trying, but you always have to make it so difficult every time.”

“Then stop. Stop ‘loving’ me, and let me go,” Tony gets in his face, pushing him back with a shove to his shoulder. “You’ll have more money than you’d know what to do with if you just let me go.”

“I’m not abandoning you, Tony, especially not now. You aren’t thinking clearly–”

“Because I’m an omega?”

“Not only that,” Steve says, and Tony’s face sours. “Your family, your parents… they- they just died. That would make anyone a little reckless.” He should know; he was in a similar situation not too long ago.

Tony attacks him then, clawing at his chest, his face, anywhere he can reach. “You are destroying me!”

But Steve holds his hands, pinning him against a wall to prevent further damage. “I’m trying to save you,” he says, his tone even as it meets the other man’s hysteria. “Just stop, Tony. Stop punishing yourself. Stop trying to push me away. Just stop.”

“I hate you,” Tony cries out as he renews his resistance.

It hurts to hear, but Steve knows his omega doesn’t mean it. “Shhh… Tony, shhh… I know. I know, sweetheart.”

He goes limp. “Let me go, Steve.”

“You aren’t alone in this, I promise.” Steve leans in to kiss Tony’s temple, his hands sliding from Tony’s wrists to wrap around his back, embracing him tightly.

* * *

Tony’s next heat will be in late February, coinciding with their anniversary. Steve wants to make it special, take Tony out someplace warm and cozy so they can get their relationship back on track, but Tony is blasé about the whole affair. He doesn’t seem to care at all until Steve gets called in for a week-long black ops mission to take out a growing insurgency in the Middle East. Ostensibly, he will be back three days before his omega’s heat begins, but the proximity makes Tony nervous.

“Can’t I have heat suppressants, just this once?” He asks, already knowing the request is futile.

“We’ve been over this, Tony,” Steve sighs. “They aren’t good for you.”

“But what if… you know,” he doesn’t want to say it. Whether he’s afraid of angering Steve or jinxing his swift return, Steve doesn’t know.

“I’ll be back in plenty of time to help you,” Steve reassures him.

Steve isn’t.

The operation goes sideways almost immediately, and Captain America and his team are stranded without air support, forcing them to trek to the next extraction point several days away. He pushes the others to move faster, travelling through day and night without stopping, as the hours tick by and he grows increasingly worried about Tony. When an operative collapses from exhaustion and Steve is forced to carry him the rest of the way, a little part of him wonders whether he should have been so adamant about the heat suppressants. He squashes that voice immediately, leaving no room for doubt.

And so it happens that by the time they’ve touched down on home soil on what should be the second day of Tony’s heat, Steve takes off, completely disregarding protocol regarding post-mission debriefs to race home. Fury can reprimand him later when Tony isn’t in the throes of painful need.

Steve barrels through the door, his nose quickly assaulted by the pungent stench of omega in distress. He is not usually affected – having become used to ignoring it for Tony’s sake – but his omega’s scent is particularly overpowering at that moment. He barely remembers to lock the door behind him as he tears away towards the open master bedroom. There, he finds Tony prone on the bed, dripping with sweat, completely nonverbal, his sex puffy with numerous unsuccessful attempts to quell his heat himself. Various dildos lie discarded and strewn around the bed. The vibrator he had purchased for Tony is plugged into the wall, the motor running hot and smelling of electrical burn as he holds it to his sex, weeping at its inefficacy. Steve briefly wonders how long Tony had been at it, how long he has had to suffer in such a state before his omega drops the toy and reaches out for him, whimpering in pain. The room is muggy with his irresistible heat scent, overwhelming even Steve’s iron resolve as it beckons him closer. When he is within reach, Tony pulls him down and pounces on him, tearing at his clothes like a wild animal.

Steve barely registers anything after that aside from fever-bright sensations: a wet tongue on his nipple, the taste of Tony in his own mouth, and that slick heat gripping his dick. He loses control, losing himself in Tony, fucking into the pliant omega above him but slowing when Tony shutters and cries out in pain, which appears to be constant and unrelated to how hard Steve thrusts. Still, his lizard brain is wary of damaging his omega, even in such a state, and tries to be accommodatingly gentle as Tony rides Steve to relief.

Once he has spilled inside Tony an unknown number of times, Steve comes to his senses, slipping out of that warm heat when his knot deflates. He sits up, planning to head towards the kitchen. They need liquids and sustenance – _when was the last time Tony has even eaten?_ He wonders – and that’s when he realizes he’s not wearing a condom.

_Fuck._ He covers his face with clawed fingers, roughly ruffling them through his hair as he breathes in and falls backward onto the bed. This is big. He fucked up, and Tony is going to be–

Tony crawls back on him, ready to go for another round, but Steve dislodges him before he can mount him yet again. “Not right now, Tony,” he mumbles.

Tony whimpers, clinging to him like the needy thing he has become. He pulls weakly at his arm, rutting against his hip, letting out little whines of distress.

“Alright fine,” Steve acquiesces, but he holds Tony off until he can roll on a condom. It’s a little late, but he figures he should try not to be a complete asshole while he is in possession of his wits and has no excuse.

Once Tony has tired himself out, temporarily satisfied, Steve is able to leave to gather supplies. He figures he has three minutes tops, so he tries to move fast, assembling a makeshift sandwich that might have ended up with three slices of bread. Adding to this, he piles on some crackers and chalky protein bars along with yogurt and handfuls of granola – really whatever he can find. He blindly digs through the utensil drawer, pulling out an unknown number of unidentified eating utensils to drop onto the tray as well as a couple bottles of water, and then he’s back just in time for Tony to have wound himself up again for what turns out to be the last round of sex.

When Tony is mostly himself, wrung out and fuzzy, Steve helps him sit up to drink and eat. He can barely chew, so the protein bars, granola and crackers are out, being far too crunchy. Also, since Steve ended up grabbing four butter knives and no spoons, the yogurt is a no go, but he cuts up what turns out to be a mustard and cheese sandwich into tiny bite-sized squares, which he passes by hand into Tony’s mouth. Tony chews without complaint, too exhausted to even taste whatever Steve is giving him.

“I’ll run a bath for you, okay sweetheart?” he murmurs, careful not to speak too loudly while Tony is in such a vulnerable, over-sensitized state. Tony nods his agreement then lies back on the pillow. However, when he reaches a limp hand between his thighs to check for any damage, Tony feels more than slick leaking out of him. Steve can only watch as Tony fearfully withdraws, his fingers coming away white.

“Steve,” he croaks before clearing his throat. “Did- did you wear a condom?”

“…Not at first,” Steve admits, bracing himself for Tony’s curses, his violent physical onslaught. He won’t even fight back this time. It’s what he deserves.

Instead, Tony rolls onto his side, buries his face in his arms, and cries brokenly.

Steve would have preferred a punch to the gut or for Tony to have attempted an old-fashioned eye-gouge. It would have hurt less. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he reaches out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Tony violently shrugs it off. “No! Don’t touch me!” he hisses, causing Steve to withdraw. Uncertain of how to proceed, he waits until Tony’s sobs have turned to hiccups.

“What are you still doing here?” Tony chokes out, one red eye peeking out from the cradle of his limbs. “Go away.”

Steve obliges, leaving the door open just a crack in case Tony needs anything. He sits on the couch and resolves to never accept missions so close to Tony’s heat. Fury will just have to find someone else, and if he gets fired for it… Well, he can always find another job, probably in a factory, like he had done before the war. He has his priorities, and Captain America isn’t as important as his omega’s wellbeing.

* * *

He requests two days off for Tony’s next heat in mid-April, but when his heat fails to manifest, Steve spends his short vacation searching their home for Tony’s black-market heat suppressants. He rifles through the drawers in the kitchen, their medicine cabinet, even Tony’s underwear drawer, but he finds nothing. He had expected as much. If Tony had somehow procured more pills, they’re likely in his lab in the basement or maybe at his office in Stark Industries. Perhaps he even carries them on his person, so he can have access to them on weekends. They wouldn’t be hidden where Steve would so easily find them.

A week later and Steve can no longer stay silent on the issue.

“Where did you hide them?”

Tony lifts an eyebrow at the accusation. “Hide what?”

“Your heat suppressants,” Steve clarifies. “I told you they are bad for your health.”

“Maybe bad for your libido, but I haven’t been taking them.”

He has to admit: his omega is an excellent liar. Now, if only he would stop acting like Steve is stupid enough to fall for it. “Tony, it’s been seven weeks since your last heat. I know, because I put in for time off for it last week so we don’t get a repeat of… you know.”

Tony looks stricken. “It’s the twenty-second already?” He flips open his planner, his eyes widening in growing panic.

“Yeah, tax day was last week. How could you forget?”

“Fuck! Steve, I’m not on any suppressants!” he exclaims, his breath quickening in the beginnings of a panic attack. “This can’t be happening…”

If Tony isn’t on his suppressants, that could only mean… “I can go to the store. Buy a pregnancy test.”

Tony strides over, his limbs flailing, looking like he very much wants to strike Steve. He might have, too, if he thought it would do any damage at all. “This is all your fault, you asshole!”

“You want to come with me?” Steve offers.

Tony deflates, covering his face with one hand while waving Steve off with the other. “…No. I’ll just… I think I have to sit down.” He drops onto the couch, drawing up his knees to make himself smaller.

“Okay. I’m just going to the corner store. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” Steve calls out, halfway to the door.

Tony wraps his arms around his knees and leans his forehead down then mumbles just loud enough for Steve to hear, “Like an alpha has never said that to his omega before. I’ll see you in twenty years. Maybe.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Steve repeats.

“We’ll see.”

Once out the door, Steve takes off running, making it to the corner market in three minutes flat, but he stalls in front of the aisle containing pregnancy tests and an entire array of condoms, a painful reminder of what could have been. There are too many options, blue and pink, and ones that claim to detect a pregnancy before a missed heat, and others that boast a 99.6% accuracy. Steve doesn’t have time to compare, so he blindly grabs one of each and brings his armful to the register. He stares down the cashier, daring him to comment as he rings up the fourteenth test before placing the lot of them into a paper bag for Steve to carry out.

He makes it back home in under twelve minutes, where Tony sits curled up on the couch, just as Steve had left him.

“Here,” he drops the bag next to Tony. “I didn’t know which one was best, so I got you an assortment.”

“Fantastic,” Tony mumbles as he turns his head to peer into the contents.

Steve wants to hurry him along, but he figures he’s done enough harm, so he gently nudges Tony by pushing the bag closer. “So… um, I think you pee on them? It’s a lot faster and more humane than the rabbit test of my day.”

Resolutely, Tony drops his feet to the ground and snatches a random test from the top. “I don’t want to hear about your dead rabbits,” he states, heading towards the bathroom. “I’ll… I’ll be out in like five minutes.”

It’s the longest five minutes of Steve’s life.

What if Tony is pregnant? Neither of them have a family anymore, but maybe this could be a fresh start, another chance to have what both of them have so recently lost. Would a child really be the disaster they’re envisioning? Perhaps he or she may even domesticate Tony and redirect his energies towards more healthy pursuits. Maybe–

Tony exits the bathroom like a shot, waving a test stick, nearly hysterical. “I will never forgive you, you dick! You asshole! I hate you! Those Rebirth scientists should have had you neutered!”

Steve catches his flailing limbs and half-hearted attempts at assault with a urine-soaked weapon. He cocks his head to one side, trying to read the results, but realizes he wouldn’t recognize what he’s seeing anyway. “It’s positive, isn’t it? You’re pregnant.”

Tony brandishes the test, pointing at the side showing two lines in a little window, as if Steve would know what that means. “You planned this, didn’t you?” he howls, nearly on the verge of angry tears.

“No, sweetheart. No,” Steve tries to assure him, but Tony remains unconvinced. “I would never cause you so much distress on purpose. It was an accident.”

He tries to embrace his omega, but the man ducks his touch, prodding his chest with a sharp index finger. “You wanted this to happen! You forced me into that level of desperate need so you could manipulate me into this situation.”

“I didn’t–”

“It– it hurt, Steve, my last heat, and you weren’t here… I- I couldn’t get relief. None. I tried everything. I even wanted… I wanted to call up an old friend after the first few hours–” Tony admits.

Steve’s arm shoots out, lightly squeezing his bonding gland in warning. “You would have cheated on me?”

Tony panics. “I was so desperate, Steve. You don’t know what it’s like, to need but not want so badly at the same time… Please, Steve.”

That fear – of Steve and what he might do – it sounds so wrong in his omega’s voice that it makes Steve feel sick and ashamed. He’s supposed to be making Tony feel safe with him, but he can feel his omega’s pulse fast like a jackrabbit thrumming against where his thumb rests on his neck. He lets go immediately, soothing him instead.

“It’s alright. I’m not mad,” he murmurs.

Tony doesn’t believe him, shrinking away from his alpha as he explains. “I couldn’t dial anyone anyway. I couldn’t remember anyone’s number, much less find my little black book.” Tony looks at Steve, who is visibly relieved he couldn’t seek help from anyone else. “Stop looking so pleased,” he barks. “This is all your fault. If you had just worn a condom–”

Steve’s temper flares to match Tony’s. “You didn’t give me any time! Besides, you mounted me. You wanted my dick.”

“I was vulnerable, in pain, and delirious. Of course I took anything you were willing to let me have. Didn’t mean you couldn’t have held me off for two minutes to suit up, and it didn’t mean I wanted it like that. I would have let you stuff your entire fist inside me and wear me like a puppet if you had asked,” he shouts. “Hell, I wish _that_ was what you would have done if this was the alternative.”

“You will not speak like that about our child,” Steve commands, his tone stern.

“I don’t want this baby!”

Steve takes a step back. Though it’s not really a surprise, he’s shocked and hurt by Tony’s blatant declaration. “Well, it’s too late for that.”

“No, it’s not,” Tony says softly, turning away from Steve, his arms crossed to hug himself, to hold himself together.

“…What?”

If Tony is smart, he won’t finish that sentiment. He’d let Steve have a little plausible deniability as to its meaning.

Instead, Tony continues, louder this time: “There are options. I–”

“No.”

“I don’t want this baby, Steve. The timing is wrong, and…” _the alpha is wrong,_ he doesn’t say, but Steve already knows.

Steve slips behind him, one hand over his stomach and the other firmly planted on his bonding gland, as he whispers forcefully, “It’s happening, so you best get used to the idea.” He’s careful not to press too hard on either spot, but he needs to get through to his omega. “Understood?”

Tony gulps and nods, his body rigid against Steve’s.

“That means no alcohol, caffeine, rare steaks, or sushi for the next seven months,” he adds.

Tony nods.

“And you will have regular meals and maintain normal sleep cycles. It’s what’s best for you and the baby.”

Tony nods.

Steve lets go, gently pushing his nose into Tony’s bonding glad in reward, generous in his praise. “You’re a good omega, Tony. So good for me. I know you’ll do what’s right.” He fondly strokes the flat plane of Tony’s stomach, imagining it growing full with their child. Tony bats him off and distances himself from Steve, going down into the basement for the night.

* * *

The months pass and Tony’s pregnancy progresses. Tony had tried to ignore it early on, until his clothes no longer fit and he ended up crying in front of his closet, all his clothes thrown to the floor and trampled in his rage. Steve had taken it upon himself to put away Tony’s regular clothes and supplement his wardrobe with some maternity basics, things that sported a looser fit to prevent triggering Tony’s increasingly-frequent mood swings. Tony stopped looking at his changing body in the mirror, but it did little to further his denial. He aches in new places, and at a certain point, he can no longer see his shoes nor bend over to tie them, so Steve covertly switches everything out for slip-on flats. Not that Tony appreciated anything Steve did.

The pregnancy precludes Tony’s heats which meant no sex. Steve had accepted Tony’s refusals, didn’t even try to instigate anything in bed anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t find Tony attractive in his current state. Quite the opposite.

Steve often masturbates to the fantasy of his pregnant omega letting him in willingly and being so sweet. He’d be sweet for Tony, too; pay tribute to his thighs and sex with his tongue. He wouldn’t want to hurt the baby, so he’d wet just the tip of his erection in that velvety softness, shallowly penetrating Tony while jerking him off. Tony would be so wet and open, the fullness of their child resting between them. Perhaps, he’d even whisper Steve’s name like a prayer, begging for more, and Steve would be so very generous with his touches, his kisses. In Steve’s fantasies, Tony won’t even turn away at the last second, depriving Steve of the little things. He’d let him kiss him fully, maybe allow his tongue to tangle with Tony’s own, sloppy and wet, his hands roving over his arms, his back, then gently over the crest of his full belly, and–

Steve cums over his hand, then mops up the mess with tissue.

* * *

“I need you to promise me something,” Tony tells him one night, rolled on his side to face away from Steve.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“This child? She’s going to be the only one. No more after her, got it?”

Steve frowns. He had always thought siblings were important. Dougie had taught him how to be more conscientious, how to share, but no way would Tony respond well to that argument. He thought he grew up perfect.

“What if you want more?” he asks instead.

“I won’t, but any decisions to grow this... this ‘family’? We’re going to have a discussion about it, and I get final say, when I’m in my right mind. And that answer is always going to be no, and you will accept it. Because I swear on my mother’s grave that if something like this happens again, I’m going to leave, and there won’t be a second baby,” Tony warns him. “I don’t care what you do to me.”

“…Alright. I promise.”

“Good.”

* * *

Their daughter is due in early December, shortly before the first anniversary of Tony’s parents’ deaths. The timing isn’t ideal, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Steve knows Tony wishes he can drink, but circumstances being what they are… he tries to distract Tony instead. He paints the nursery a bright yellow like Tony had wanted, and then painted over it again with a light blue hue instead when Tony had called the first color ‘chicken-fat yellow.’ He assembles the crib and baby furniture and buys a car seat, installing it in Tony’s car in preparation for the birth and having Tony practice on a sack of flour. Tony had locked it a little tight, squeezing some flour from the corners, but Steve figures a newborn would be slightly less boxy (and probably less durable). He can’t remember whether Happy has children and might be able to offer an assist on the whole car seat situation, so he carefully reviews the pamphlet himself.

In the end, he approaches fatherhood like any other mission: He pores over all the reading material he can get his hands on, and then when the time comes, he forgets half of it and makes up his own playbook on the spot, adjusting for the situation as it unfolds.

And so when Tony’s water breaks, he grabs the go-bag, helps Tony into the car, and speeds off towards the hospital. Tony hisses in pain as he’s hit with a series of contractions, curses Steve’s existence, and threatens to castrate him, so… not much has changed.

At the hospital, a physician with a soft voice and softer hands gently rubs Tony’s back. “Mr. Stark… Tony, I’m going to need you to lean forward while I place the catheter.”

“Oh thank God,” Tony mutters, wincing as he leans forward, cradling his over-extended belly.

Steve watches them sanitize the area with iodine and pull out a large needle. “What’s that?”

“An epidural catheter, for Tony’s pain management during the delivery,” she explains, tapping the syringe to get rid of any air bubbles.

“That won’t be necessary,” Steve says, causing the physician pause.

“What?” Tony explodes, nearly sitting upright before crashing back down, grasping his stomach as yet another contraction hits. “Steve, I’m not doing this unmedicated! I need my drugs,” he demands, his tone dangerous.

But Steve doesn’t budge. “I read that there are risks of nerve damage, and it increases the risk of C-section dramatically, which isn’t good for either you or the baby.”

“And preventing me from getting an epidural will increase the risk of me murdering you in your sleep to 90%,” Tony threatens him. “I’ve come up with six different plans in the last two minutes.”

Steve tries to remain calm. Tony doesn’t mean it; it’s only the pain talking. “Sweetheart…” he attempts.

“Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me,” Tony makes another pained grunt as another contraction ripples through. “It just went up to 92%.”

The doctor still holds the needle aloft, uncertain of her next move. “You have to make a decision, Captain Rogers. Eventually, Tony will reach the point of no-return where an epidural will not be possible, and he will have to deliver without one.”

“You promised,” Tony pants, his voice weakening, growing small. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and he looks so vulnerable in his hospital bed. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me. Please don’t make me go without.”

His change in demeanor gives Steve pause. As a general rule, Tony Stark does not beg. Sure, he will yell, scream, make his demands, and curse Steve’s existence when he doesn’t capitulate.

But he doesn’t beg.

“Please Steve.” Tony reaches over to clasp Steve’s wrist tightly, squeezing as another spasm wracks through his body. He whimpers. “Please, Alpha. Please.”

“Alright,” Steve relents. “Give him the epidural.”

They place the epidural, which kicks in after twenty minutes.

“Aw yeah… that’s the good stuff,” Tony coos, leaning back. He turns to regard the anesthesiologist, his face taking on a smarmy quality. “Hey doc, you single?”

Steve frowns. “Tony…”

“I was kidding, darling; just kidding,” he reassures Steve, but he makes eye contact with his physician, holding up his thumb and pinky to his ear in mimicry of a phone and mouthing ‘Call me.’

Steve is not amused.

* * *

When Steve finally holds their daughter, he is overcome with joy. For the first time in a long time, he feels not quite as alone in this world, like he finally has his family back, and it’s all thanks to his amazingly wonderful, completely exhausted omega.

“She’s beautiful, Tony. So beautiful and so very small. You did so well,” Steve praises Tony while cradling their baby. His forearm completely dwarfs her as she blindly rustles in his arms. “Just… Thank you, sweetheart.”

Tony holds out his arms, and Steve passes her over, making sure Tony supports the head just right, just like the nurse had shown him.

Tony stares at her as she protests the jostling then settles, quickly falling asleep. He tries to blink the tears from his eyes before Steve can see, but his alpha notices, rubbing his shoulder.

Steve speaks first. “I was thinking about names, and–”

“Maria. Her name is Maria.”

“That’s a great name, but–”

“It’s her name,” Tony repeats, his tone firm. “Tell you what? When you push a baby through your birth canal, you can name him or her whatever you want.”

_Fair enough._

Just then a nurse interrupts, bearing the rest of the birth certificate paperwork they had yet to sign, directing her remaining questions to Steve.

“And have you chosen a name?” she asks him. Tony looks to Steve, his expression grim, probably still put-out that the alpha has final say despite the unfair division of labor in the actual birthing process.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. “Maria. Maria Stark-Rogers.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at the name but doesn’t comment, rocking Maria when she begins to fuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vibrators were originally invented in late 1800s because doctors were tired of spending 20 minutes genitally massaging woman suffering from hysteria (a common condition that basically seems to translate to being depressed and sexually frustrated). They were openly sold as legitimate medical and household devices until around the late 1920s, when they started showing up in porn. Even then, they were still primarily marketed as medical and beauty devices with no mention of them as a sexual aid until around the 1960s. So, Steve would have been aware of vibrators. His mom and fiancé could have openly bought them with no embarrassment from the local department store because they were primarily nonsexual devices. As a result, Steve, trying to be the best alpha he can be, can plainly see his omega is unhappy and erratic, and he’s all… I know how to make him more docile. Of course, he buys him a vibrator and is like, “Sweetheart, I’ve got the cure for your totally-legitimate omega hysteria right here.” Tony, of course, is extremely offended.
> 
> Also, I listened to Ani DiFranco’s ‘Out of Range’ a lot while writing this chapter. It just reminded me of Tony’s situation:
> 
> Just the thought  
Of our bed  
Makes me crumble like the plaster where you punched the wall beside my head  
And I try to draw the line  
But it ends up running down the middle of me most of the time
> 
> Boys get locked up in some prison  
Girls get locked up in some house  
And it don’t matter if it’s a warden  
Or a lover  
Or a spouse  
You just can’t talk to ‘em  
You just can’t reason  
You just can’t leave  
And you just can’t please ‘em
> 
> It’s a little harder to show in this chapter because the fic is from Steve’s POV, but Tony has a lot of pride. Here, he’s trapped in this abusive situation, and though intellectually, he knows he shouldn’t feel like he does, he does feel ashamed. But at the same time, he doesn’t know how to ask for help, so he pretends things are fine to his mother and Rhodey (with varying degrees of success) until it’s too late, and he’s left with only Steve.


	4. Let Him Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problems in Tony and Steve’s relationship come to a head. Tony makes a heart-breaking choice, and Steve realizes a terrible truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… um, having no kids myself, I basically pulled from family members’ experiences. So, the way Tony is acting is not entirely pulled from thin air. Don’t get me wrong, my relatives love their kids, but newborn care is very rough for some people, and let’s be honest: Tony does not strike me as the type to love the newborn stage. He’s pretty good with kids, but he probably prefers toddler age and older when they can interact a bit more.

Prior to Maria’s birth, Steve had hoped that having a baby would calm Tony, that his parental instincts would kick in upon seeing their tiny defenseless daughter so needy and dependent on him and caring for her would grant Tony a deeper sense of purpose.

But like in all things, his omega defies expectation.

Tony is on parental leave from Stark Industries as he tries to adjust his work-life balance to account for their new addition, but he becomes restless almost immediately, taking Maria down into his home lab after the first week to tinker with a new weapons system, optimizing its accuracy while making the remote device increasingly smaller. He leaves the lab unlocked, doesn’t even try to keep Steve out anymore, not when he has Maria inside, so when Steve comes down to deliver a lunch of oatmeal and mixed berries alongside some lumpy lactation cookies he had whipped up, he stumbles across a profoundly worrisome scene.

Tony is deep in concentration, focusing on the blue holographic interface (a replica of the one back at SI). He has expanded the specs of the unidentifiable device to streamline its components. Behind him lying on the workbench is Maria gurgling while a curious DUM-E delicately tries to avoid her flailing limbs in its attempts to re-swaddle her.

“What the– Tony!” Steve drops the tray, rushing forward to bat the claw machine’s arm away and pick up their baby.

Tony doesn’t even turn around. “Hm?” he says absently as he modifies some attachment.

“What the hell? Why aren’t you watching Maria?”

Tony disregards the attachment and tries a different one. “Oh, I put DUM-E on that. It’s fine.”

“DUM-E can’t even make a decent smoothie, and you think he can babysit?” Steve huffs when Tony turns to face him.

DUM-E makes a sad beeping sound as its arm droops.

“No offense, but you can barely operate a blender,” Steve tells the robot. Great, he’s so upset, he’s talking to appliances now.

Tony is still blasé about the situation, completely unmoved by Steve’s concerns. “A blender is nothing like a baby, Steve,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, I don’t care if your robot breaks a blender, but I definitely care if it breaks our _child_,” Steve bellows, startling Maria who starts to cry. He gently bounces her, trying to soothe her.

“She can’t even roll over yet. You put her down, and she stays in one place,” Tony points out, turning back to his workstation. “I fail to see what the big deal is.”

Steve tries to control his temper to avoid squeezing the delicate child in his arms. “You know what! If you’re this distracted by work, maybe you shouldn’t work at all.”

That gets Tony’s attention.

“What!” He spins back around to face the other man.

“You’re not going back to work,” Steve reiterates. “You’re going to focus on taking care of Maria, and that will be your one and only job for the near future.”

“What do you mean I can’t go back to work?”

“I’m not saying it’s forever, but that woman you appointed as interim CEO, Ms. Potts? She’s doing a good job, right? Perhaps she can just keep doing it for a few years until Maria–”

“_Years?_”

“Maria needs you,” he says, rocking the baby and lightly shushing her when she continues to cry. “We can revisit the issue when she goes to preschool–”

Tony throws up his hands. “Nope. No. That doesn’t work for me.”

“Sweetheart, be reasonable.”

“No, you be reasonable. I’m not going to spend the next four years in baby jail while you get to gallivant around–”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Parenting is not ‘baby jail.’ Don’t be so dramat–”

“If you confine me to the house, that’s house arrest,” Tony insists. “Hence: baby jail.”

“Raising a child is the most rewarding thing a person can do.”

“Then you do it! I’ll go to work, and you stay home with the baby,” he counters, massaging his temples with both hands. “Look, the world was fine without Captain America for almost fifty years. Meanwhile, current technologies become obsolete by the day. It requires my brain, my innovations, to keep SI at the forefront of our industry otherwise we lose relevance. Furthermore, I earn way more than you anyways. It doesn’t make sense for me to stay home!”

“Can you keep it down? You’re upsetting Maria,” Steve whispers harshly, looking down at her as he continues to bounce, hoping she’ll settle. “We’ll be just fine. We get dividends from SI whether you work or not, and besides, I can’t even feed her.”

Tony does keep his voice down, but his tone remains hard, angry. “What? They didn’t make bottles in the forties?”

“No, I mean… breastfeeding. I read that breastfeeding is best. Protects against allergies and eczema and other illnesses, and–”

“Are you kidding right now?” he hisses. “I can’t go to work because formula is not good enough for your spawn.”

“Stop calling her that. _Our_ daughter has a name, one you picked out,” Steve retorts.

“But–”

Keeping Maria cradled in one arm, he reaches out to firmly grasp Tony’s bonding gland. “End of discussion,” he states, using his Captain America voice, before he softens, “It’s not so bad. My mother stayed home with us, and–”

Tony looks up at him, defiance in his eyes. “No, Steve.”

“Maria needs you,” he squeezes Tony’s shoulder fractionally, careful not to bruise. “This is non-negotiable.”

In the end, Steve invokes his legal ownership of Stark Industries to force Tony to (temporarily) step down, appointing Pepper Potts to the position of interim CEO indefinitely. Tony is upset, but he complies, feeding and caring for Maria while Steve is at work, then immediately pawning her off on him the minute he gets home so he can lock himself in the lab for some much-needed ‘me time’ until her next feeding a couple hours later.

Tony seems exhausted, their child requiring constant mind-numbing attention. Steve figures he’ll get the hang of it eventually, as have many omegas before him in similar situations.

* * *

Three weeks later, Maria is lying in her crib, screaming, while Tony looms over her, wearing five-day old clothing and smelling of body odor and old milk. His hair is mussed and sticking out in all directions, his eyes wild and angry, dark bags underneath and fine lines growing at the corners. His mouth is twisted into a scowl as he grips the bars of the gated crib. Having just returned home from a long mission, Steve approaches silently, as if Tony is a suicide bomber and Maria his intended victim.

“It’s not looking at me,” Tony cries, nearly hysterical. “It’s never looking at me. I pour so much love and attention into this… this thing, and it’s like a black hole of need and crying and pooping, sucking everything in and giving nothing back. She can’t even maintain eye contact for any length of time. Why the fuck do people do this?”

“Tony! Language,” Steve admonishes him gently, “and she’s not a thing or an ‘it.’ She’s a baby.”

Tony turns to him, viscously ruffling through his hair with clawed fingers. “This _baby _business? I don’t know why people do it! I can’t sleep. She won’t let me. It’s three in the morning; it’s only been two hours since I last fed her; and she’s hungry again. And she needs a change. If she would just stop pooping for five minutes, maybe she’d be full for once.” He looks back down at Maria, loudly imploring her to “Just stop pooping! Just stop! And no crying, God damn it!”

She only wails louder in response.

“Alright… alright sweetheart, just let me take her,” Steve bends down to lift her, cradling her protectively in his arms as she continues to cry. “You go to sleep. I’ll do it.”

“You can’t do shit. _Your_ nipples are useless!”

“We have some baby formula that one of the gals at work gave us for the baby shower they threw me at S.H.I.E.L.D. I’ll fix up a bottle and–”

“Oh! Now baby formula is suddenly acceptable, you goddamn asshole,” Tony accuses him, pulling at the hem of his own loose shirt. “What happened to breastfeeding’s many benefits, fuck my chapped bleeding nipples and having to hold her twenty-four-seven for several weeks straight because she can’t latch quite right, and she takes forever to feed, and by the time she’s done, she’s hungry again, and did I mention the nonstop pooping? I feel you haven’t grasped the gravity of the situation. The sheer needi–”

“Tony, stop,” Steve commands him. “You want to talk about need? You need sleep. Breastfeeding is beneficial but only if you can stand to be in her presence. I’ll take her from here, okay?”

“You’re letting the prized cow have the night off even when the parasite might need something? Wow, this must be what it feels like to be prioritized.”

“You’re always my priority. You both are. Now get some rest.”

Tony looks like he wants to argue, but he’s just too tired and doing so would be to his detriment anyway. “I’m going to bed for fifteen hours. Don’t wake me unless the house is on fire, and you can’t fight it off without my help. And even then, I want you to carefully consider whether you’ve tried everything first, including outfitting the gremlin in a tiny fireman suit and handing her a squirt gun.”

“Good night, sweetheart,” Steve reiterates, bouncing an inconsolable, wet and hungry Maria.

It’s hard work, taking care of a newborn. The individual tasks are not particularly difficult, but it requires constant effort, leaving little time for deep, restorative sleep, and though she naps a lot, it’s done in short intervals, punctuated often by cries for food, for diaper changes, for attention. Steve can see why Tony is so harried, and Steve doesn’t even have to deal with ‘chapped, bleeding nipples.’

He calls Fury the following day, putting in for the twelve weeks of unpaid parental leave he is entitled to as a federal employee.

“Hey… what are you doing home?” Tony asks the following Monday when Steve is still sitting at the kitchen table with their baby, having woken up early to feed Maria and letting his omega have a well-deserved lie-in.

“Twelve weeks parental leave starts today. I thought you could use the break,” Steve replies. “We can switch off on night feedings. I’ll take early mornings.”

“Finally decided to take more than a passing interest in your spawn?”

“In _Maria_.”

“Whatever,” Tony grumbles, opening a cabinet to grab a mug. He forgoes the coffee, grabbing some decaffeinated tea bags instead. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

* * *

Maria is wet, so Steve changes her diaper, but the minute she’s clean and dry, she pees again then cries about it. Steve grumbles, and pulls out another diaper.

* * *

Maria had eaten well, but then she threw up everything and cried, hungry once again.

“Did you burp her?” Tony had asked, wearily.

Steve was perplexed. “Did I do what?”

* * *

Steve stalks out the door of their townhouse, almost strangling a taxi driver who is stuck behind a Prius and leaning on his horn. Tony had just gotten Maria down after thirty minutes of constant rocking when the commotion woke her up.

* * *

“So, I’ve been reading up on this thing called co-sleeping,” Tony suggests one day near the end of Steve’s parental leave. “I think we should try it. Maria can sleep next to me, and it’s supposed to help night feeding and get us a couple more hours of sleep.”

“Oh thank God.”

“A bit blasphemous coming from you, but you’re welcome.”

* * *

Steve returns to work, feeling relieved that that entire ordeal is over but also a touch guilty for leaving Tony to do the brunt of the work. The army taught him to never leave a man behind, but this is what nature intended, the natural order of things. Steve is an alpha, not cut out for child rearing, while Tony is an omega. He’s biologically inclined to it.

_They will be fine._

_Probably._

He calls Tony on his lunch break, just to see how things are going and to make sure he hasn’t put Maria in the oven out of desperation or sheer exhaustion.

Steve barely has a chance to greet him when Tony barks out, “Are you insane? You better be dying, because if not, I’m going to kill you when you get home.”

“What–”

“Maria was taking a nap. _I _was taking a nap, and now neither of us are.”

Steve hangs up.

_See? Fine._

* * *

At six months, Maria starts to sleep through the night and naps at regular intervals during the day. Tony’s mood improves greatly.

“_Chi è la polpetta di Papa_?” Tony coos, tickling her toes to make her giggle. “_Siete! Si, sei tu_.”

He blows a raspberry into her belly, and she flails, smacking him lightly in the face. “_Daddy è un grande scemo._ _È grande e lento. Stai attento, la mia polpetta_,” he continues.

“What’s a _polpetta_?” Steve asks, having brought Tony his tea along with eggs, toast, and orange slices for breakfast.

“Hm?”

“You said _polpetta_ twice.”

“Just a nickname for her. It means my little meatball,” Tony replies. “It’s a term of endearment.”

Steve hums his approval. “So, you’re teaching her Italian.”

“Yeah, the earlier they learn, the better.”

“Do you think I should learn? If you really want her to pick it up, it’s best to hear it from both parents.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tony says, his tone carefully nonchalant. “I learned fine with just Mom speaking to me. Plus, it’ll be much harder for you, considering your age, old-timer.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at that. “You know the forty-six years on ice doesn’t count.” Physically, he’s only seven years older than his omega, tops.

“It does when we’re talking about generational differences,” Tony mumbles, bouncing Maria on his knee as he reaches for an orange slice.

* * *

At nine months, Maria walks. Tony takes a video and shows Steve when he returns from a covert mission in South America.

Steve nearly cries when he picks her up, throwing her into the air and catching her as she screams in delight.

* * *

At ten months, Maria speaks. Her first word is Papa for Tony, and her second is ba-ba for bye-bye or bottle, but a close third is Dada for Steve.

Steve has never loved anything more than he loves her, except for maybe Tony.

* * *

At fourteen months, Tony has her mostly weaned, but his heats fail to return.

“I hope I don’t have to remind you, but you’re still breastfeeding, and if you’re taking heat suppressants again, it will pass through the milk, and that’s not good for Maria,” Steve warns him.

Tony rolls his eyes, cradling her close. “I’m not taking anything. This little sproglet right here is my very own all-natural heat suppressant, darling. You don’t think our ancestors became weak and needy every other month while caring for a dependent child, did you?” he readjusts her so she’s looking over his shoulder as he pats her back. “Now, you could try taking her away, but is your sex life really more important than her wellbeing?”

It’s not. Of course it’s not.

But it’s been so long; Steve has gotten very well-acquainted with his right hand. He barely remembers what sex feels like. Sometimes, he wonders how Tony is doing with his own self-imposed celibacy and whether he’d be inclined to break it soon. After all, just because he’s not getting his heats at the moment, doesn’t mean they can’t have sex.

But of course, Tony is too busy, too tired, too involved with their child to concern himself with more carnal pleasures. Steve just has to wait.

* * *

Maria proves to be just as advanced as her Papa when she’s accepted into preschool at the tender age of three, bilingual and already knowing her colors as well as how to read and do simple math. She still sleeps with her parents, sandwiched between them with her arms thrown around Papa’s middle and her feet kicking Daddy most nights, but Steve slowly tries to transition her into her own room as he switches out the barely-used crib for a toddler bed.

Being the overly-attached omega he has surprisingly turned out to be, Tony is loathe to see her go.

“It’s time, sweetheart,” Steve says as he covers her bed in Sesame Street sheets. “Maria is already going to school. She needs to learn to sleep in her own room.”

“Co-sleeping is good for emotional development,” Tony tries to argue.

“She’s three, and sleeping in her own room fosters independence,” Steve counters. “I know you’ll miss her, but it’s what’s best for her.”

* * *

That night is the first they’ve slept alone in over two-and-a-half years. Steve crosses over the expanse where Maria used to lie to wrap an arm around his omega, his fingers reaching under the hem of his shirt to brush the soft flesh there, Tony already trembling with excitement.

“It’s been a while, sweetheart,” he whispers into his hair. It’s been so long for both of them.

“…Papa? Daddy? I sleep here?” comes Maria’s voice from Steve’s side of the bed, but before Steve can react, she’s already crawling over her Daddy to wedge herself between them. Tony clings to her, and Steve sighs, unable to say no.

“Alright sport, but you think you can stay in your own room tomorrow?” he negotiates with her instead.

“Mm hm, Daddy,” she yawns. “_Buona notte, Papa_.”

* * *

Maria crawls into their bed the next night and the next and the one after that, never managing to stay in her own room. Tony always accepts her with open arms, but while Steve loves Maria, he had been looking forward to reclaiming their marital bed.

“Why are you always coming to our room? Do you miss us?” Steve asks her one day while she helps him make some cookies for dessert. Since Maria had started school, Tony had returned to SI on a part-time basis in his old position as head of Research and Development. Happy drives him to and from the office, swinging by the school to drop off and pick up Maria. Once he gets home, Steve takes over watching her for a couple hours before her bedtime so Tony can retreat to his home lab to continue his work.

“Papa miss me,” Maria says simply while adding too many chocolate chips to the batter.

“Papa sees you every day. He puts you to bed,” Steve reminds her. Tony always insists on reading Maria her bedtime story and tucking her in.

She nods. “Papa say miss me,” she repeats. She holds up a spoon. “Lick?”

“Maybe when we’re done making all the cookies,” Steve says, rolling out the dough into sticky balls.

Later that night, he tells Tony he’ll put Maria to bed.

“But I always do it. It’s our routine,” Tony points out, hand clasped around Maria’s own.

“I thought I’d try and help you out. Why don’t you go and take a shower first? I won’t be long.”

“It’s no bother. I like spending time with Maria.”

“I insist, sweetheart,” and just like that, Steve sweeps up Maria to take her to her room. 

Maria critiques his story-telling ability. _Papa uses voices,_ she complains, but she goes down relatively easy before the end of the book. Steve quietly shuts the door behind him, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of her nightlight.

He returns to their room where Tony is facing away, curled up on the edge like he had been in the first few months of their bonding.

So Steve slips in next to him, one hand playing at the hem of his pajama top.

“I’m tired, darling. Not tonight,” Tony says, his voice small and subdued.

Steve’s hand stills. “Have you been telling Maria you miss her so she’d come to our room?”

“I do miss her.”

Steve hums, retracting his hand to roll onto his back. “She can’t stay your baby forever. You’re going to have to let go eventually.”

“I know,” Tony sighs, his tone more relaxed, “but maybe a little longer.”

* * *

Maria still occasionally comes to their room, but the frequency decreases over time. When she does sleep over, Tony holds onto her, as if afraid she may slip away or grow up too soon.

“_Ti voglio bene, la mia polpetta. Baci_,” he tells her, kissing her cheek, and Steve knows Tony is saying he loves her.

* * *

There’s an evening event unveiling Stark Industries’ next product line that Tony simply can’t miss, so Steve is on babysitting duty.

“Why is it called babysitting when an alpha watches their own child?” Tony had grumbled, but Steve simply straightened his omega’s tie, kissed him on the temple, and saw him out, watching Tony get into a car driven by Happy.

Maria is playing with her stuffed animals in her room. She had been favoring Elmo as of late, neglecting even Soft Kitty during playtime. Steve watches as she picks up Elmo by his arms, swinging him around.

“_Facciamo un gioco,_ Elmo!” she tells him.

Steve squats down to get on her level. “_Gioco_? What game are you playing, sport?”

She puts an index over her lips. “_Un segreto,_” she says, her eyes sparkling.

“A secret you say?”

“Mm hm, Daddy. Papa play with me.”

“Can you show me?” Tony spends a lot of time with Maria while Steve is at work or on extended missions for S.H.I.E.L.D., and he wants to take this evening, however brief, to spend some quality time with her.

Maria shakes her head. “Nuh uh. Lose game.”

“I’m sure Papa wouldn’t mind.”

But Maria shakes her head again, adamant that Steve’s exclusion is an integral aspect of winning the game.

He tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s still blonde like his, but it might darken with age considering Tony’s hue. “Alright; why don’t you play with Elmo, then?”

“’Kay. You go ‘way.”

Steve leaves her door wide open and hides in the master bedroom across the hall, his door cracked open to watch her.

Maria waits three whole minutes, prancing around with Elmo, making a mess of her room. Then she skips over to her closet to rummage through her clothes, her shoes, throwing them aside until she reaches the very back where she pulls out a backpack Steve has never seen before. She straps it on, then tip-toes out of her room. Steve opens the door more to watch her as she sneaks through the house. She moves down the hallway, peeking around dark corners before slipping past them, always on the lookout for an unseen foe. He follows, watching her grab a couple water bottles from the kitchen before finally ending up by the door where she sits down with Elmo to wait, quietly putting on her shoes until Steve approaches her.

He feels his mouth go dry. “Did you win, sport?”

She tilts her head to one side. “You see me?”

“Yep.”

“Then nope.”

“Want to watch some Sesame Street?” he asks. When she nods, he sits her in front of the television and queues up the VCR to a couple of her favorites as recorded by Tony. “I’ll be right back.”

He returns to their master bedroom then throws open Tony’s closet. He pulls out his clothes, flinging them on the bed, followed by Tony’s shoes, which he tosses aside, but he finds nothing. So, he gets down on his hands and knees, carefully knocking against all sides until he finds a hollow spot in the floor. He feels around the hardwood until his fingers catch and he presses on one side, dislodging the hidden door to reveal a go-bag. With trembling fingers, he lifts it out and carries it to the bed, opening it to find passports for Maria and Tony, copies of their birth certificates, cash, hard disks, first aid kit, a flashlight and batteries, clothing, nonperishable meal bars and other necessities.

He leaves the open bag on the bed then carefully replaces Tony’s clothing and shoes back in his closet before heading out to sit on the couch with Maria.

“You okay, Daddy?” she asks him when she sees his face.

“I’m fine, sport. Just fine.” He says numbly, gathering her in his arms to sit on his lap. “How many bats does the Count have?”

“Fifteen.”

“Why don’t you count along with him?”

“One bat… ah, ah, ah… Two bats… ah, ah, ah… Three…”

* * *

Tony returns late that night to a darkened home. He toes off his shoes and takes a detour to Maria’s room to check on her sleeping form before heading to the master bedroom. Steve is waiting for him, sitting on their bed, staring at his hands. The go-bag, previously hidden in Tony’s closet, is out and open, its contents just peeking out of the top where Steve had rifled through them to see exactly how prepared, how well-planned, this operation had been.

Tony stops just inside the room then closes the door behind him. Silence stretches between them until Steve finally speaks.

“Did you think I was never going to find out?”

“…Find out what?” Tony’s voice is forcibly even, a touch fearful even.

_Good. He should be scared._

“I know, Tony. I know about the games, the codes, the go-bag you had her…” Steve sucks in a breath to calm himself. “You weren’t teaching her Italian to expand her mind. You were teaching her a secret language to hide from me, so you could run!”

“Steve–”

“You were planning to leave,” he accuses. Steve stands, advancing on Tony to grasp him by the arm. “You were planning to take her away from me.”

“Not immediately, no.”

“But you had a plan.”

Tony is silent.

“You’re not taking her. I won’t allow it!” Steve roars. He recalls Maria, so small in his arms that very first day, and later when he proudly strapped her into a baby sling and taken her to meet Bucky and Gail, and later still, when she would sound out the ingredients in a simple recipe, her mouth forming an O around ‘oats’ which she pronounced o-at-shh. _I love you, Daddy,_ she had said earlier that night, when he had put her to bed.

Tony’s reply is stiff but determined. “You wouldn’t have been able to stop me.” He tries to pull away, but Steve’s grip is made of iron. “Let me go!”

Steve complies but blocks his exit so Tony retreats to the bed, quickly taking the heavy flashlight from his go-bag and spinning around to brandish it in front of him like a bludgeon.

“How long, Tony? When would you have left?” Steve stalks up to him, easily catching the flashlight on the upswing and wrenching it away from him. When Tony desperately attacks him empty-handed, Steve pushes him into the bed, their bodies almost flush as he tries to hold down his squirming, struggling omega, to prevent him from harming himself and Steve in his hysteria.

Tony pushes against him, trying to elbow him in the sternum, but he doesn’t have the room to really put any force in it. “That was up to you,” he hisses, still attempting to wriggle out. “If things went south, I wasn’t about to stick around and watch you hurt her, or let you force her to bond with some asshole if it came to that. I’m not my mother!”

Steve captures both wrists in one hand, holding them down as he squeezes Tony’s bonding gland with the other, and his legs wrap around Tony’s lower body, immobilizing him. “And I’m not your father. How many times do we–”

“…Daddy? Papa?” comes Maria’s soft voice from the door. Steve glances over his shoulder to find their daughter limply holding Elmo by one arm, his foot dragging along the floor.

Tony’s eyes go comically large. “Oh God no,” he mutters under his breath, so quiet Steve wouldn’t have been able to hear him without enhanced hearing. Tony tries to buck him off, but Steve is a brick wall boxing him in with no give, no clemency – only angry eyes burning into Tony’s wide ones. “I’ll do whatever you want, just… not in front of Maria, not in front of our daughter,” he whispers, his voice breaking, “Please Steve.”

Perhaps that means Tony will behave for once. It’s worth a shot, and someone has to tuck Maria in.

Steve gets up and steps away from Tony, turning towards Maria and crouching down to get on her level. “Hey sport, what are you doing out of bed?”

Maria rubs her eyes and frowns. “Why you hurting Papa?”

Steve gathers her in his arms, lifting her up easily. “I wasn’t. Sometimes your Papa can get a little worked up, and I was just trying to calm him down so he doesn’t hurt himself.” He steps out of the room, walking the short distance across the hall. “Now, let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

Once in her room, he tucks her in, straightening out her hair a touch with a sweep of his fingers to give her a kiss on the forehead. He still can’t believe Tony would plot to deny him this, but the evidence is clear with Tony’s confession removing any remaining doubt.

“Goodnight, Maria.”

“You mad at Papa?” she asks, her mouth downturned and brow crinkled with concern.

Steve considers it and decides on a more age-appropriate explanation. “Papa and I just have… a little disagreement, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. Okay?”

“Don’t be mad. Papa scared when you’re mad.”

“Your Papa isn’t scared of anything,” he stands to leave, stopping at the exit. “Sweet dreams, sport.”

He closes the door behind him, standing outside a beat to listen to Maria’s breathing slow before entering the master bedroom to deal with his omega’s betrayal. He is mildly surprised Tony didn’t lock him out, but then again, if he didn’t trust him with their daughter…

The thought makes him burn.

That fire flows downward when he sees what awaits him: Tony, naked on the bed, his legs spread and inviting.

“Lock the door, won’t you?” he says. “I don’t want Maria to walk in on us.”

Dumbfounded, Steve complies.

Tony can’t possibly think he can get out of this using sex. They’re not done yet, and Steve had been making a lot of valid points about secrecy and betrayal when their daughter interrupted. But then he looks at Tony’s sex, his own dick twitching with interest. Okay yeah, it has been a while, but Steve isn’t about to let him off that easily. Not this time.

He watches Tony apply moistened fingers to the outside, warming himself up for the main event, but there’s something off about the scene. There’s a disconnection between the rather-arousing display itself and the look of resignation on Tony’s face. So before he can dip his fingers inside, Steve asks, “You have to use that? You’re always so wet. I thought you… don’t you make your own?”

“Not for something like this. No.”

_Something like…_ and Steve’s brain stutters to a halt.

Tony dips two fingers in to the first knuckle, fucking himself with proficiency, but with how infrequently they have sex these days, Tony isn’t loosening as fast as he’d like, if his pinched expression is anything to go by. His cock lies flaccid, actively disinterested in the proceedings. “Now, you’re going to also want to use a lot on yourself to ease the slide, darling.”

“No. Stop that.”

Tony’s fingers still as he withdraws and wipes the excess off on his inner thigh, his hands trembling. He doesn’t close the pot of lube, still hopeful for small mercies. “I get that this is a punishment – I’m actually surprised this one hasn’t come up sooner – but the lube is as much for your benefit as mine. Trust me. I’ll even… I can prepare myself. I know some find it quite dull, but–”

“I said no, Tony,” Steve orders, using his Captain America voice.

His omega visibly winces. “Please Steve. Three minutes is all I’m asking so I won’t- I won’t tear on your knot, and if you’re planning to go more than once… I can’t heal as fast as you. Just give me some time to work myself open. I know I upset you. I know you feel betrayed, but you- you promised no damage when we bonded, no matter how bad it got, no matter how angry I made you,” he babbles, “And besides, think of all that chafing on your end. Your dick will thank me.”

_Tony actually thought he’d– _

“I’m not going to do it if you can’t slick up, if you don’t want it, too,” Steve clarifies, his tone still hard.

Tony chuckles, but there is no mirth to it. “Since when has that ever been important?”

“Since always. Tony, you’re my omega. We have a child together. I want to take care of you, which involves a certain amount of guidance and discipline, sure, but I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not going to force myself inside you.”

“I’m not allowed heat suppressants nor birth control without your consent, which you haven’t given–”

“We’ve already discussed this. The hormones mess with your body’s natural state–”

“Pregnancy messed with my body’s natural state, and I didn’t get a say in that either,” Tony snaps before he remembers where he is and becomes sufficiently chastened. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Maria; I do, but we’re bonded, and in the eyes of the law, my body belongs to you. And I- I don’t get a choice, not when I can’t even opt out of my own heats.”

“I’ve always listened when you said no,” Steve points out. “I’ve never held you down or forced you.”

“Oh please. You think when I’m aching and needy and desperate for alpha cock – any alpha cock – that I can consent to sex in any meaningful way? How is it a choice when I’m violently ill for several days every six weeks, and the only medicine you’ll let me have is your dick because it’s all-natural, gluten-free, and free-range? You think an inability to say no under such circumstances is the same as a yes freely-given? Did it– Does it feel the same to you as that time I actually thought–” Tony chokes on the memory, then takes a deep breath. “At least this time, I’ve got my wits about me and am making a conscious choice, so… there’s that. But you know the law. You- you can’t rape what you already own, so why keep up the pretense, honey-bun? If a more authentic experience is what you’ve been after, all-natural and free of any modern aids to help it along...” He screws the cap back on the lube with a loud snap, then lies back, propped up against a pillow, letting his knees fall to either side, parting his thighs to present his mostly-dry underprepared hole for Steve’s use. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” His tone is subdued, defeated and broken in the silence of their bedroom. “I’ve heard that old-fashioned alphas like their little omegas to be good and tight. Isn’t that right, Captain America?”

Then Tony shuts his eyes and waits.

Steve approaches him, the bed dipping underneath his weight as he places a knee atop the mattress. He lightly strokes Tony’s hip, ghosting over the rounded muscle, and Tony flinches, a little spasm of panic fluttering in his chest that he suppresses much too late. He sucks in a steadying breath but keeps his legs open and trembling as he anticipates the first breach of Steve’s cock, clearly expecting the penetration to be dry and acutely painful with perhaps only the tiniest pearly bead of precum to slick the way if he’s lucky and his easy submission manages to excite his alpha. Steve withdraws his touch, reaching over to grab the blanket and cover Tony’s nudity, more than a little horrified his omega had thought he could actually–

“I’m gonna sleep on the couch,” Steve announces, slipping off their bed and heading towards the exit.

When he shuts the door, Steve can hear Tony shift, probably to close his legs, followed by a short sob of relief despite the man’s earlier bravado. It breaks Steve’s heart that Tony – his Tony; his frustratingly-obstinate, back-talking, strong, wonderful, beautiful omega – has been reduced to that. God, he had wanted it, Tony’s submission, but not like this.

He pulls out a blanket and extra pillow from the hall linen closet and goes to lie on the couch, but he can’t sleep. He can’t stop thinking about Tony, what he had offered Steve and why…

_Maria._

An omega will always protect their child.

Had Tony witnessed unsavory fights between his parents and wanted different for their daughter? Now that his contingency plan has been discovered, Tony is doing the best he can to protect Maria – from Steve – in the only way he knows how, using the singular trump card he has left, what Steve has always truly desired of him: his submission. He knows Tony. His omega will fight tooth and nail, push back against Steve simply on principle. If it was just about Tony, he would soldier on with his minor rebellions to undermine his alpha’s authority. But it isn’t anymore; Steve had made sure of that. So now Tony has to consider her: her stability, her emotional health and physical safety. What is best for Maria that Tony can give her given his own societal and legal limitations. Steve has to admit he doesn’t have many options. So, Tony made a calculated decision, using his body to bargain for her soul.

_I’ll do whatever you want, just… not in front of Maria._

Steve still couldn’t believe it. Tony had actually thought… Steve recalls his conversation with Tony’s mother early on.

_An alpha always thinks it’s that simple,_ Maria’s namesake had said all those years ago.

Yes, it would be easy for Tony precisely because Steve would _allow_ it to be. But Steve can always change his mind, and that is the root of the problem.

_You promised no damage when we bonded, no matter how bad it got, no matter how angry I made you,_ Tony had said, but he never pushed for Steve to keep his word after invoking the vow because an omega couldn’t expect blanket guarantees.

_I love my son._

He can still see Tony, thighs parted and shaking, eyes squeezed shut, anticipating the intimate pain of an alpha knot tearing him up from the inside without even the benefit of slick, artificial or otherwise. Too scared for _otherwise_ to even be an option. That humiliating, excruciating punishment of which he had envisioned Steve capable and didn’t want their daughter to witness.

_Not enough to leave._

Tony struggling to keep his legs open, trying to be brave.

For Maria.

_An alpha always thinks it’s that simple._

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

Steve rises early the next morning, calls in for a personal day, and instead of getting his normal morning run in, he decides to help Maria get ready for preschool. Tony usually does it, and he barely complains, so how hard can it be?

“Daddy, cookie?” Maria asks, looking up at him with wide blue eyes as she picks at her cheerios.

Steve lifts a brow at that. “Does your Papa let you have cookies for breakfast?”

She refuses to answer. “Cookie?” she implores him instead, finger pointing helpfully at the jar on the counter, as if he didn’t know exactly where they were.

“No. Eat your cereal.”

Maria pokes at her breakfast. “Done,” she tells him. Steve looks at her bowl. She couldn’t have had more than two bites, but she’s so tiny, maybe that’s normal?

“Alright, time to brush your teeth,” he tells her. He takes her to the bathroom, loads her toothbrush with what is probably too much paste and hands it to her. She’s not very thorough, only brushing her front teeth and completely missing the incisors and molars.

She spits and rinses. “Done.”

“I think you missed a spot there, sport.”

“Papa brush teeth,” she tells him, so Steve tries to convince her to let him brush her teeth for her.

“No. Done,” she insists.

“You didn’t get all of them.”

“Done,” she repeats, dodging Steve’s attempts to put the toothbrush back in her mouth.

Steve wonders how Tony manages to do this every morning.

“Stand still.”

Maria shakes her head, giggling then closing her mouth and sucking her lips over her teeth for good measure.

“Open,” he says in his Captain America voice.

It doesn’t work.

So Steve loses his patience. “I said open!” he snaps, and Maria starts to cry, but it does the job.

Steve quickly sticks the toothbrush in, roughly scraping across all surfaces he can reach until she starts to cough and choke. He stops, allowing her to rinse as he rubs her back.

She sniffles. “Daddy mean!” she admonishes him, shrinking away, and hell, does that make Steve feel like a monster.

He tries to awkwardly comfort her, but she pulls away crying, her nose drippy and eyes red. Steve has to change her again when the sleeves of her long-sleeve tunic top become wet and crusty with snot. He lets her pick her own top, allowing her to wear a worn-out Elmo shirt that is likely part of a pajama set and probably clashes with the patterned leggings she’s already wearing. So, her final outfit doesn’t quite match like the one Tony had laid out for her the night before, but she’s fully clothed and not naked so that has to count for something.

On their way to the car where Happy is waiting to drive her to preschool, they pass the kitchen. Maria, sniffling, points at the cookie jar once again. “I’m hungry. Cookie?”

Steve looks at her, at her puffy face and protruding bottom lip, just beginning to wibble in warning. “…Okay.”

* * *

Later that morning, Tony tries to tip-toe past Steve washing up in the kitchen in order to get down to his basement lab, but Steve has already clocked his presence.

“I made breakfast,” Steve says, pointing to omelet cooling on the table. If Tony doesn’t eat soon, it will become rubbery.

“No thanks, I’m good,” Tony says, still trying to skirt around the kitchen. He knows he got up late, forcing Steve to be a parent for longer than the two hours a day after work to which he is accustomed, and looks skittish about the situation, like Steve is trying to set him up for another punishment.

And that’s when Steve realizes Tony is scared of him. Why hasn’t he ever noticed before?

“Maria was able to con me into giving her cookies for breakfast,” Steve says evenly. He pours two cups of coffee and takes both to the table, leaving one on the far side before sitting down to eat Tony’s omelet himself. “She’s a smart one. Gets it from her Papa, I guess.”

Tony takes the coffee but remains standing. “Now that you’ve given in, expect a repeat performance.”

“I never considered how hard it could be,” Steve’s fork pauses. “You’re good with her.”

“Yeah well, when you’re trapped in a house with a sneaky toddler, you learn a thing or two about how to manage them for your own personal sanity,” he remarks, his tone bitter and a touch snarky before he remembers himself and shuts up, taking a sip of coffee to cover his lapse in judgment.

“Look, Tony–”

“I have to go,” Tony interjects, speeding towards the safety of his basement lab. “Busy busy.”

* * *

After work, Steve makes a detour, arriving home half an hour later than expected.

Grumbling about the time, Tony hands Maria off to him, ready to disappear back into the lab.

“Wait Tony–”

“You’re late, and I have some things rendering in the lab that don’t need sticky baby fingers all over them,” he calls out, rushing back downstairs before Steve can stop him.

So Steve orders in, having the nearest decent burger joint deliver a feast of cheeseburgers and tater tots. Maria eats her tots but turns her nose up at the burger, having not yet developed a taste for meat as is common in her age group. Tony doesn’t come up at all, so once he parks Maria in front of the television (Steve has no idea how his mother got by without one at this point), he grabs a bag to take dinner down to Tony.

Predictably, the door is locked, and Tony isn’t taking any visitors, so he stares at the external camera, making a show of leaving the bag of cheeseburgers alongside a smaller one from the pharmacy.

Tony comes up just in time for Maria’s bedtime routine to put her to sleep, and when she’s finally down, he joins his alpha in the kitchen.

“Okay, who are you and what have you done to Steve?” Tony asks, placing the bag containing his heat suppressants and birth control between them, one pill of each already missing from the blister packs.

“I just thought about what you said, and you are right, so I went to the pharmacy, signed off on your pills and picked up your first fill. They have my permissions on file so you can pick them up whenever you’re running low.”

Tony still regards him with suspicion. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your game? Because I don’t get it.”

Steve sighs.

This is it. This is the end.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” he begins, and Tony’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “For everything. I don’t think I ever said it, even when I felt I did wrong, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you have your medications.” He pushes the pills closer to his omega as the man’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry I forced you to… and I wasn’t always there for you when I said I would be, and I left you alone so long that it drove you to do things you wouldn’t normally have done. I’m not sorry for Maria, but I _am_ sorry for how she was conceived and how I’ve treated you. I know- I know you can never love me back. I don’t deserve it, and perhaps you can’t even learn to trust me, but maybe… maybe if one day – not right now, of course, but one day, if you could forgive me… I promise I will try every day to earn that much.”

Now that he’s said his piece, this next part is going to be difficult, the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he’s going to have to give Tony a choice, because he deserves one after so long going without. “We can start the separation process, and we don’t have to share a bed anymore, but… if it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay. I’ll move into the study, but I’d like to stay. Brooklyn is kind of far, and I don’t want to lose Maria, but I’ll…” he takes a quivering breath, “I’ll go if you need me to be gone. We can tell her–” Steve starts to choke up, but he forces himself to say the words, “tell her Daddy has to be at work for longer stretches, and if I could have her on weeke- Oh God!” Steve cries, breaking down. It’s still Tony’s choice, but he can’t. He simply can’t. “Tony, I can’t lose my family again. She’s all I have left.”

“Steve, I’m not…” Tony tries to say then pauses to rephrase his response. “Steve, Maria loves you. You’re her father. She needs you, too. You can stay in the study. That’s fine.”

“Thank you, Tony. Thank you.”

* * *

They don’t get divorced, at least not immediately. Steve is willing to sign away his rights to Stark Industries and other properties, returning them back to Tony’s sole control. He doesn’t want Tony’s money or his family business or anything else he is legally entitled to and could technically demand as his just due.

“The only thing I want is joint custody of Maria,” he tells his (no longer his) omega.

Tony nods. “You sure about that?”

“Yes. I don’t want anything else, and… I- I told your mother if you wanted to leave, you’d be leaving with your fortune intact,” Steve says. Tony seems surprised, and Steve realizes they’ve never had that conversation. He had assumed his mother would have told Tony at some point, but perhaps she had thought the same. “That was always an option for you, Tony. To leave. I didn’t mean to trap you nor would I have left you penniless and homeless if you wanted out. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear before. I guess we can add that to my many failings where you are concerned.”

* * *

Steve’s new priority is Maria, her emotional wellbeing and happiness.

“Daddy is getting his own room,” he says, not quite sure how to explain the new arrangement to their daughter. “Just like when you got your own room.”

Perhaps when Tony asks him to sign the papers, they’ll have to sit her down together and tell her how much both her parents love her but sometimes Daddies make mistakes and–

Maria tugs on his arm. “Daddy sad?”

Steve wipes his eyes, his palms coming away wet. “Just thinking of something else, sport.” He pulls out some paper and water-soluble paints from his art kit. “Want to paint a picture with Daddy?”

* * *

Steve takes a more active role in Maria’s care, grateful for every day with her. It frees up Tony’s mornings, which he uses to sleep in or get an early start on work. It frees up some of his weekends, too, when Steve takes her to the park or to see Unkie Bucky and Auntie Gail, but Steve doesn’t like to think about what (or who) Tony is doing then. He’d rather not know.

That blissful ignorance ends when one day, he returns home early from the Triskelion to find Colonel James Rhodes in their living room. Tony visibly tenses while Rhodes stares him down, silently challenging Steve to say anything about his presence in their home after being banned for the past four years.

“Daddy!” Maria runs up to hug him around his knees.

That breaks the spell.

“Whoa there, sport,” Steve stumbles, trying not to step on her. He steps away and crouches down to greet her properly.

“Unkie Rhodey brung crayons!” She pulls him by the hand towards the coffee table to show off a drawing of the four of them: Daddy, her, Papa, and ‘Unkie Rhodey’ in a field, sun shining in the background. They’re all holding hands, of course. One big happy family.

“That’s real swell, Maria. Great use of color,” Steve says numbly.

Later that night, when Rhodes is gone and Maria is put to bed, Steve broaches the subject with Tony.

“So, you and Rhodes… Is that a thing now?”

Tony’s expression sours. “You don’t get to ask that,” he replies in clipped tones.

“I do when you’re bringing him around and introducing him to Maria,” Steve insists. He may not have a say in Tony’s extramarital activities anymore, but he’s still Maria’s father, and the stability of her home life is of paramount importance.

“Are you trying to dictate what I can and can’t do?”

Steve looks down, closing his eyes and steepling his fingers against his temple. He sighs. “No, I’ve lost that right. You can do what you want, whoever you want, and I won’t stop you.” He breathes deeply, before facing Tony. “But I am asking that you not bring them home unless it’s a stable thing, someone who you’d want me to sign the papers for. I don’t want Maria to be exposed to an endless parade of your flings and one night stands, not to mention the drugs – what was it again – blow?”

Tony is offended. “You know I don’t do that shit anymore. I haven’t in years since before we bonded.”

“Well, I’d rather you not start again, but whatever and whoever it is that you _do_ do, that’s your business. Just don’t bring it home. It’s not good for her.”

That gives Tony pause, his anger dissipating. “…Okay, I guess that’s reasonable, and um… same goes for you.”

“That’s not going to be a problem.”

“The drugs or dating?”

“Either. Both. Does it matter so long as I keep it away from her?”

Tony considers it. “No, I suppose not.”

Not that Steve actually dates. He’s not on the market for another omega, and upon casual observation of Tony’s behavior and schedule, Tony isn’t either. Rhodes still comes over from time to time, but they aren’t particularly affectionate with each other outside of Tony’s ridiculous nicknames for the other alpha, and Tony isn’t absent enough to indicate long-term involvement with anyone else. That doesn’t preclude one night stands of course, but Tony is home most nights, preferring to tuck in Maria rather than spend a night in another alpha’s bed.

“Perhaps he’s not ready to move on,” Bucky had opined when Steve had brought Maria over to bake a cake with Gail for her granddaughter’s birthday.

“Yeah, I guess he wouldn’t want another alpha so quick after what I done to him,” Steve concedes ruefully.

“…I know it’s not any of my business, and you don’t have to share, but what happened with you two? You’ve never said,” Bucky asks, his tone careful, guarded.

“I made a mistake, Buck. Something I can’t take back, and Tony’s nice enough to agree to let me stick around for now, but I’m trying not to rock the boat, for Maria… she’s all I’ve got now, so…”

Steve must look depressed, because Bucky’s hugging him again. “It’s alright, Stevie. Everything’s going to be alright. You’ve got a beautiful daughter.”

Steve wipes his eyes. “She really is something else, huh?”

* * *

“Can you watch Maria Saturday night?” Tony asks him one day, a few months after their separation.

Steve’s heart stutters. He’d been expecting this, is actually surprised Tony has waited as long as he has, but he says the only thing he can in this situation, the thing he’d promised himself he’d say when this day finally came.

“Of course.”

Tony nods, his expression unreadable. “Don’t wait up.”

“I never do.” _Not anymore._

Tony doesn’t say what he’ll be doing, and Steve doesn’t ask – he has no right to – but Steve spends the next several days planning his Saturday with Maria. Maybe that will distract him from the crushing heartbreak that is Tony’s first date with someone other than Steve.

* * *

When Saturday comes, he bundles up Maria and takes her to Central Park to feed the birds and visit the petting zoo in Tisch Children’s Zoo, where she chases the sheep and almost has her jacket eaten by a very-insistent goat. Steve buys her ice cream, stops for a scheduled nap, then takes her to Brooklyn to ride Jane’s Carousel and patronize the Brooklyn Children’s Museum. They make an entire day of it, and Steve only thinks about Tony once an hour, when there’s a lull in the fun then he’s right back on to planning the next <strike>distraction</strike> activity until he runs even Maria ragged. He ends up carrying her back home on his shoulders, her feet much too tired to do more than tap against his chest as he walks.

He fixes her her favorite dinner of mac ‘n cheese followed by an hour of Sesame Street and then she’s ready for bed. He bathes her, brushes her teeth, and tucks her in for a story. He even tries to do the voices. He’s still not half as good as Tony, but he’s improving.

“She likes ‘Fox in Socks’ best,” a soft voice comes from the doorway. Steve turns to find Tony. “If you can’t get your voice high enough for the mosquito, she’ll take Dr. Seuss’s tongue twisters instead.”

“…I’ll remember that next time.”

“Papa! Daddy took me to the park. We petted goats,” she chatters on excitedly.

“_Sembra divertente, la mia polpetta,_” Tony says, stepping forward the kiss her on the forehead as Steve makes space for him.

“_Tu vieni la prossima volta?_” she asks hopefully.

He assures her. “_Forse forse._”

“_A Daddy manchi._”

“_Lo so. Ti voglio bene, la mia polpetta,_” and with that, Tony follows Steve out into the hallway, careful to close the door softly behind them.

They stand across from each other in the silence of the hallway. Steve doesn’t know what Tony is doing back so early. He checks his watch. It’s barely eight. Did his date go that poorly? Still, he manages to ask nonchalantly, “Have fun tonight?”

Tony hums in the affirmative. “And you? She give you trouble?”

“Some, but you know… she’s a good kid. Spirited. You did a good job.”

He waves off the compliment. “Aw, don’t count yourself out, darling. You deserve some of the credit. Say… 12%?”

Steve lifts an eyebrow at that. “12%, huh?”

“An argument can be made for fifteen, but you’re catching up.”

“So… that mean you’re going to be making this a habit?” he queries.

Tony doesn’t dignify that with a response.

Steve’s shoulders slump as he scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry… sorry, I don’t get to ask that.”

“No. No, you don’t,” Tony confirms, crossing his arms. “And also no, I’m not. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, but I missed her.”

“Not sure it’s Stockholm Syndrome if it’s your own kid, you know.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Oh,” Steve doesn’t quite know what to say to that. “Well, it’s getting late. I should get back.”

Tony tips his head in the direction of the study. “Down the hall?”

“…Yeah.”

“You don’t have to, you know. Turns out my room is right here.” Tony reaches for the door knob of the master bedroom, opening it a crack. “Much closer.”

_He can’t possibly mean…_

“You sure?”

“I’m not offering sex,” Tony clarifies, rather unnecessarily in Steve’s opinion. Steve knows that’s off the table permanently. He doesn’t deserve–

“At least not yet,” the man continues, much to Steve’s surprise. “But you know, Maria’s staying in her own room these days, and the bed is a king and kind of empty, very spacious, so…”

“Yeah, okay.”

They enter the darkened room, and Steve realizes he doesn’t have any of his nightclothes here, having long moved all his possessions into the study. Tony seems to understand his conundrum when he pulls out a pair of his own silky pajamas, and Steve makes no move to get undressed.

“Still sleep in your underwear?” he asks.

“Yeah, but… I could just get some clothes from my room and come back,” Steve offers, already edging towards the door.

“It’s fine.”

Tony changes in the bathroom, while Steve strips off his shirt and pants, leaving him in his undershirt and boxer briefs. He waits for Tony to get into bed first, then slides in after to lie on his back, respectfully keeping to his side of the bed.

But then he feels Tony curl into his side, throwing an arm around his middle. “You’re so stiff,” he complains.

“…Sorry,” Steve consciously tries to relax, letting his muscles go slack, allowing Tony to sink into him, cuddling against his side, so soft and warm. He even smells the same, and the sense memory makes Steve’s stomach flip.

“Much better, darling.”

He waits a moment, then shifts to face Tony, gathering him up more fully in his arms, tucking his head under his chin. “This okay?”

“Mm hm,” Tony sounds sleepy, despite the early bedtime.

Steve holds him, still in disbelief of Tony’s forgiveness, his magnanimity. He wonders if they can find their way back to each other, perhaps for the first time.

“I can hear you, you know,” Tony grumbles. Steve is pretty sure he didn’t say anything. “You think too loud, makes you flex your entire body. Stop over-analyzing everything and hold me, darling.”

Steve can do that.

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

Tony makes a soft noise and smiles into Steve’s skin, his breath forming hot puffs across his chest and fingers making small circles against his back.

“_Buona notte, mio caro._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the official end of the fic, but I have an idea for a short coda that takes place eighteen months later if you want to stick around. I’ll add another chapter once I figure out which one I want to write (either the semi-depressing canon one or the more decidedly happy one).
> 
> Anyways, I originally planned to write this fic from Tony’s POV. It would have opened with Tony being smacked around and told in no uncertain terms by Howard that he will bond with Steve and become a family heir they can be proud of or else. Tony figures he can scare away the old-fashioned alpha by really cranking up the volume on his pre-existing playboy reputation so that it technically won’t be him calling it off, but to his surprise and dismay, Steve is still prepared to go through with it. The fic would mostly deal with Tony’s perspective as he stages his rebellions against Steve’s dominance, navigates his complicated relationship with his mother who he both loves and resents, deals with the disconnect between his biological need for Steve and conscious desire to be free, and finally his heartbreaking choice to save his child, exposing his inherent vulnerability and powerlessness to Steve in a way that the alpha can’t ignore. But then when I was plotting it out, I found Tony’s motivations easy to interpret from an outside perspective, but Steve’s were more obscure. As a character, he’s not as outwardly vulnerable or expressive and generally keeps things a bit closer to the chest. Honestly, without his perspective on certain events (such as when he gets Tony pregnant then insists he keep it), there will always be a question of whether he did what he did on purpose to trap and control Tony. It would be nearly impossible to redeem a character that manipulative or write an ending where Steve earnestly tries to regain Tony’s trust (not his love; Steve believes that ship has sailed), and Tony is on his way to forgiving him and possibly loving him back. To obtain a hopeful ending without Steve’s perspective, the fic would have to focus less on the things I find fun (the bickering, the petty power plays) and more on the hard, repetitive work Steve had to do to demonstrate he really understands and appreciates Tony’s position and needs. So… that’s why I wrote this story from Steve’s POV.
> 
> Edited to add: Just to be clear, this fic takes place in 1991-1996. In the real world, marital rape became a crime across the United States in 1993. Before that, many rape laws were written specifically to exclude wives. And even after it was criminalized, many states still treated marital rape as different from other rape. So when Tony tells Steve that according to the law his body belongs to Steve and Steve can't rape what he owns, he is referencing a real situation that is contemporary to the time period of the fic. Even today, many people do not believe marital rape exists and that a spouse's consent to sex is automatic and cannot be retracted. So... that is not a thing I made up. Unfortunately.


	5. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony, two years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone wanted the happy epilogue, so here you go.

“How much cheese do you think Papa wants in his burger?” Steve asks Maria, sprinkling shredded cheddar into the cavity of ground beef.

“More,” she replies, but when Steve only allows a few more bits to fall, she clarifies, “Way more.”

“Papa should watch his cholesterol.”

“Papa doesn’t care about his cold-ester-lol. He wants more cheese, and it’s his birthday.”

“He is always saying birthday calories don’t count, and he may try to apply the same policy to cholesterol, but his blood work would disagree,” Steve says in a futile attempt to teach their daughter healthy habits through better choices.

Maria remains unconvinced. “More cheese, Daddy.”

“Okay, but only because it’s his birthday.” Steve doubles the cheese, turning what would have been a disappointing amount that quickly melted into the meat into a generous layer of oozing goodness. “Papa and Uncle Rhodey are going to be home soon. Why don’t you set the table?”

“Is Uncle Rhodey staying for dinner?”

“Probably,” Steve adds a generous helping of cheese to Rhodey’s burger, even more than what he put in Tony’s. “I’m already making one for him.”

Maria glances at his burger, so overfilled with cheese that the top may not seal properly, threatening the integrity of the final product. “I think that’s too much cheese. Aren’t you worried about Uncle Rhodey’s cold-ester-lol?”

Rhodes can hurry up and die for all Steve cares.

“Not really, no…” he says instead, rather innocently. But when Maria cants her head to look at him with more skepticism than should be possible for a six-year-old, Steve continues, “Uncle Rhodey is a guest. A guest can have as much cheese as he wants.”

Maria looks thoughtful. “Can I be a guest, too?”

“No, you have a room. You live here.”

“What if that’s Elmo’s room, and I’m his guest?”

“It doesn’t work like that. Sorry, sport,” Steve remarks. “Nice try though. You’re so much like Papa, always looking for loopholes.” That could spell trouble later, but he and Tony will cross that bridge when they get to it.

“Papa says there’s always an angle, and you have to dig in when you find it.”

“Papa would say that.”

When Rhodes and Tony return, Maria runs up to greet them, “_Benvenuto a casa, Papa e Uncle Rhodey! Daddy cucina Juicy Lucies_.”

“And tots!” Steve calls out from the kitchen. Maria had even helped with those, spreading them evenly on the cookie sheet before sliding them into the oven.

Tony approaches Steve from behind while the alpha flips burgers, wrapping his arms around Steve's middle and peering around him to check out his cooking technique. He leans up to kiss Steve’s neck before murmuring against his skin, “My favorite, hm?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. It even has a disgusting amount of cheese, just like you like it.” Not more than his best friend’s, but Steve is not trying to ‘nice’ Tony into an early grave.

“Why are adults so gross?” Maria asks Rhodes. Steve can hear the face she’s making even if he can’t see her.

“I don’t know, but it’s making me lose my appetite,” replies the man, like the bastard he is.

So Steve calls out, “It’d be a shame if you couldn’t stay for dinner.”

“Oh, you stop it,” Tony says, pulling away to bat his shoulder. “Rhodey is staying.”

Steve shrugs. “I already made a burger for him, but if he’s really not feeling well–”

“I’m not leaving,” Rhodey insists. “I wouldn’t miss my boy’s birthday for the world.”

_Great._

Steve and Rhodey play nice during dinner, but they stare daggers at each other when neither Tony nor Maria is looking. Steve knows Rhodey has cause to hate him; hell, he hates himself some days even now, but Steve still doesn’t like the other alpha. Luckily, neither is willing to upset Tony, especially on his birthday, so they stand united as unlikely allies in a common cause.

Steve carries the plates over.

“Nice apron. I like the frills,” Rhodey comments, referring to his attire: a floral apron with pink ruffled trim.

“You did get this for me on my birthday last year, so it is to your taste,” Steve deadpans. Tony had found it hilarious and then inexplicably sexy. He requests Steve wear it at every opportunity while cooking, but Steve only obliges on special occasions.

Tony dips a tot in some ketchup, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of hot.”

* * *

Later that night, when Rhodey has gone home and Maria is put to bed, Steve and Tony retire to their room. Steve locks the door, and Tony is on him, his mouth hot on his, tongue twisting around Steve’s own and fingers tearing at his clothing.

Steve rucks up Tony’s shirt, hands running over his torso, his chest, and sliding around to his back to cup his ass. He breaks their kiss and whispers, “Can I taste you, sweetheart?” against Tony’s lips before he travels downward to kiss his chin and then even further down still to lightly suckle on his bonding gland.

Tony moans, unable to speak. Instead, he grabs Steve’s hand and guides him to his groin to feel his burgeoning erection.

_That’s a yes_ Steve knows from experience, so he picks Tony up by his thighs, carrying him to the bed to lay him out, divesting Tony of his pants to stroke his dick before giving it a tentative lick. “This okay?”

Tony bucks his hips in response. “Oh God, Steve. You’re killing me. Just– just touch me, damn it.”

So, Steve runs his tongue over the hot flesh, swallowing around Tony’s dick, slipping up and over, leaving a messy trail of saliva everywhere as he works him over. Tony’s breath hitches, the noises starting breathy but growing heavy and dark with pleasure as Steve finds his rhythm, sucking and stroking in turn, until Tony pulls him off.

“Not yet. I want your knot,” he tells him before pulling him up to kiss him deeply.

Tony leans back and Steve follows until he’s covering Tony’s body, slipping his own erection inside. Tony is wet for it, and Steve slides in easily, angling just right and working up to the speed he knows his omega prefers as the man ruts up against him trying to take him deeper on every thrust. Tony bites his lip, trying to keep his moans of pleasure quiet so as not to disturb their daughter across the hall. Steve kisses him again, swallowing his voice, muffling them himself as he fails to suppress his own grunts.

Maybe… maybe next time Rhodes can be useful for a change and take Maria to a movie so they won’t have to be so quiet.

He’ll bring it up to Tony later… if he remembers, but for now, his omega is so tight and gripped sweetly around him, so open and wet in such a way that still leaves Steve breathless and so very grateful, even after all this time.

He plunges in deep, his thrusts becoming shallow as the base of his dick swells and lodges itself in Tony’s welcoming passage. Tony comes with a muffled cry, and Steve follows shortly after, pumping load after load into his omega as he shudders from the feeling and drops his head into the space next to Tony’s, fully sated. He slips an arm around Tony, carefully rolling the both to their sides so they can face each other as his knot comes down.

“_Ti amo, mio caro,_” Tony murmurs, fingers lightly tracing Steve’s jawline.

Steve marvels that he can have this. He had lost everything: his sense of purpose, his family, his home. But he has found it again – unexpectedly – in this time and place, with Tony, and so long as he draws breath, Steve vows to never give him a reason to let him go.

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” Steve replies, pulling him into a warm embrace. “And I always will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the fic, please consider leaving a comment to let me know :)


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